See you, Space Cowboy
by slexenskee
Summary: No one, not even his closest companions, really knew anything about Luke. As a bounty hunter, he had to have a certain penchant for odd jobs. This one was near laudable; retrieve the top secret stolen plans for the Death Star.
1. THE REAL FOLK BLUES

_I fucking love Cowboy bebop. I also happen to love Star Wars._

* * *

Planet Zeba wasn't nearly an extravagant, luxurious exotic planet as Luke would have liked. The sky was a perpetual tumult of dense, lugubrious clouds that herded across the stratosphere—which, really, was constantly seared a saffron yellow from the close proximity of the system's sun—and on the occasional moments in which they parted, it revealed a skyline dyed russet oranges, pale sickly yellows, and a formidable green near the moon which hovered pregnantly to the East, a constant, overbearing presence.

The interior wasn't any better.

A factory planet, marred by attrition wars that scarred the planet's bleak face, every inch was carved stone, now populated with dense cities, except for the watery gray oceans. Stone and oceans. Definitely Luke's idea of a vacation.

"We didn't come here for a vacation, Luke." Said Wedge rather sarcastically when Luke had voiced his opinion aloud when they were in the midst of completing the operation.

Wedge, like Luke, worked for Squad Venetus, a mercenary group which wavered between the lines of networks scorned with hatred—admittedly, making them a safe zone for both the rebels and the Empire. They had recently been hired by the Rebel Alliance to make quick work of an Imperial factories in district twenty-nine of Zeba, which, as of last year, spat out almost fourteen times the quota which the Empire made for Tie fighters.

Luke thought that was pretty cool. The rebel alliance, which usually faced the brunt of the surplus of fighting machines, certainly did not.

Either way, Luke was there for the money. That was all there was to it.

"Luke?" Wedge's voice came in with minimal static from the headset on Luke's head. "We were supposed to leave an hour ago. Where are you?"

"Hold up."

Wedge, coasting at the highest altitude possible without leaving the Planet's atmosphere, peered down into the lines of towering buildings anxiously, as if somehow, he'd be able to spot Luke from this height.

His voice had come out warped… as if there was some sort of interception of their transmission.

Wedge immediately paled.

"Luke, where are you? Are you okay? Listen, I think someone's trying to jam our reception, you're coming out staticy—

"No, that's not jamming." And then a pause, and another vague sound, as if Luke was coughing out a ball of phlegm, and was in some sort of fatal condition. "I'm brushing my teeth. " Or perhaps, it was the sound of Luke spitting out backwash.

"_What_?"

Sometimes Wedge wondered if Luke was aware of the definition of the word _'haste'_ and how it pertained to their mission. The mission they were supposed to be done with and reporting back to headquarters with hours ago.

"Wedge, chill out." Skywalker groaned laconically. "We'll be fine."

Luke was currently biding his time, standing on the edge of an enormous slab of concrete, which dipped into the sea like a large building block of some massive tower which had once ascended into the sky, and had fallen to rubble some years ago. The rock was tilted a bit, coming to a crumbled halt low enough for the sea it faced to spray salted sprites of seawater into Luke's hair as he peered into the watery abyss.

Behind him, his sleek, black X-wing hummed to life, hovering some feet off the ground with the hover chip he had fixed into the bottom of it.

He spat out the remains of the minty toothpaste, watching it foam and slosh with the sea foam, before he heard the load, almost train-like sounds coming from above him, shadows passing by him almost like quick dots with their speed.

He looked up.

Ah, shit. Tie fighters.

"Err—maybe not."

"Luke! God dammit! Get out of there!"

"Jeez," Luke grumbled as he near tripped into his starfighter's cockpit, tumbling in before the automatic opening could even finish. "Can't catch a break, can I?"

He started the engine just as the glass that surrounded the cockpit was closing, shooting off into the sky and using some fancy maneuvers to jerk the tie fighter's lock-on aim systems. He sighed as he steadied the ship with one hand, the other rubbing his eye. It was too early for a five on one dogfight.

"Wedge, why don't you get out of here? This'll probably take a while."

Wedge peered down from his own x-wing, sort of being able to make out the distant smudge of glimmering black rising quickly out of the gray-toned cityscape below him, figuring that was Luke, as the ship also had five tie fighters speeding after it. The boy was currently executing a flashy barrel roll, as the tie fighters behind him fell into a combat spread.

"Luke, watch out, it's a pursuit curve." Wedge examined panicky and hastily. "The three are moving into lead-pure-lag and the other is—

"I know Wedge!" The secondary pilot of their two-man team wasn't sure how Luke could keep his voice so steady as he spun into a well timed split-s, causing the Tie fighter paradigm to fall apart. "Anyway, get out of the atmosphere, I'll meet you at the second moon once I'm done with these guy."

"I don't really think that's a good idea…"

Or maybe it was, as the young Skywalker used a displacement roll to gain momentum and fall out of the lag's range, turning the tides and taking down one of the fighter pilots.

"Wedge!"

"Alright, alright." Said the pilot crossly, as he pushed the engine from coasting into a mild pace. "Don't die, okay?"

"I'll try not to." The other pilot answered innocuously, which was enough for Wedge.

**SESSION ONE**

**.**

_T__HE REAL FOLK BLUES_

_._

"Annoying, isn't he?" Leia smiled puckishly, as she leaned over the command desk when Wedge entered the room.

The roguish brunette only heaved. "Gave me a handful of heart attacks, I'll tell you that."

Leia chuckled mirthlessly. "Well, that's just how he is, I suppose. He's such a wastrel, that one."

"A scoundrel if I ever knew one." Wedge agreed. "Him and Han, two peas in a pod."

"Oh, _Han_." Leia rolled her eyes, and looked immediately sour. "That idiot. I can honestly see how the two of them get along o well. If Han wasn't the only one who could understand Chewie, him and Luke would probably be partners. They're dumb and dumber, but they sure do get a lot of work done."

Leia was something of the imposed mother hen, as well as team manager and altogether beauty to look at. The ship they currently were stationed in, a large, sprawling hulk of metal which was disguised as a medical facility for pregnant women (pregnant. The word itself usually kept the Empire far, far, away, usually more concerned with how much yelling and bossing one self imposed pregnant women could do then the rebel which could possibly be hiding on the ship—or shady mercenaries, in this case). Leia wasn't exactly part of the organization they ran here, but she helped out when she wasn't doing work for the Rebel Alliance.

Most of the Mercenary group consisted of pilots and bounty hunters, pooling their money to make something of a decent living. That's why people like Han, who scammed people for a living, and Luke, with his vague past he never spoke about, met and got to find out that hey, they were pretty damn alike.

"Anyway," Wedge rubbed the back of his head. "I'm gonna go get something to eat. Tell me when Luke clocks out, okay? I want to make sure he's, you know, going to eat _right._"

"Can do!" Leia smiled appealingly, as she turned back to the monitor in front of her, where she was busy sifting through new jobs that were fluctuating in, and assigning them accordingly.

Usually, Ru would be doing this. As one of the fighter pilots and field workers, she really was supposed to be out working, but seeing as though she was actually pregnant (and not just guised to be whenever an Imperial ship happened to curiously stop by) she was the one who usually did the bookkeeping.

But Leia didn't mind.

Squad Venetus was something of a second home, with its wide, open layout and laudable characters.

More importantly, Luke was here.

Leia had met Luke some years ago, back when the young boy was only fifteen, tan skin and frayed clothes, hair the color of lemon peels and eyes like the stratosphere of Alderaan on a clear summer day, a spray of sun freckles on his nose and toned muscles from dusting crops all year round. Farm boys weren't typical for the Alliance, especially not strange accented ones from the outer rim who could massacre in dogfights better than the seasoned pilots the Rebels had to offer.

It was no surprise the boy rose through the ranks. He was always Luke, Lukie, Puky, even, if you happened to be Han, but Leia had never known is full name. She supposed no one did. He walked in from thin air, and had a habit of hiding elusively behind his broad smile and tousled, sunshine hair. He was the Rebel's number one fighter, had every girl he could ever want, and could probably shoot down even Lord Vader on a one on one.

But he didn't.

Two years in and he dropped his career in the Alliance, and met a lackadaisical guy by the name of Han Solo (_Solo on the rocks, baby!)_ with enough charisma and charm to choke a sarlaacc, and teamed up with some crack jack guys like Wedge Antilles and Wes Janson, Biggs Darklighter and Jon Vander, somehow enticing the forward of Gray Squadron the infamous Ru Murleen and her current beau, Captain Ferrell, and somehow, _somehow_, this whole mercenary thing took off and then they're scoring the big bucks like a couple of kids on a hot summer day on Tatooine, 2 Trugut's a pop and no credits taken, thank you very much.

The whole thing was ludicrous, and the Alliance's forerunners watched in deep fascination and amusement, not really realizing that first class Luke had taken a good chunk of their best pilots, a handful of ships, and had started up his own promising—albeit shady—company.

It was only then, Leia supposed, that they all really began to understand how little they knew of Luke. Even Mon Mothma, who had been so pleased with the admirable and really rather attractive new pilot, had been shocked.

Who was Luke, really?

"You've got this real strange look on your face, Leia."

She looked up then, breaking out of her musings to see the very object of such deep thoughts grinning down at her, hair askew and helmet tucked under his arm.

"You're late." Was all she could think to say.

He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, sorry about that. Me and Han went down to try the local dining."

By down, he must mean Bareillye, the bright center of the Zeba System, a manifestation of every boy's dream. Good beer, limitless shots of Corellia Grand, fine women and a club on every block. No doubt he and Han had stirred up some trouble.

Nonetheless, Leia's brows pinched together. "Well, go into the mess hall and eat something anyway, I'm worried about those skinny arms."

"Skinny?" Luke looked affronted. "These are some _guns_, I'll have you know. I could knock down even Chewie in an arm wrestle if I wanted!"

The towering Wookie took the opportune moment to enter through the sliding doors, a flat look skewering the suddenly meek blond through the fringes of his hair.

"Err—maybe, not so much."

The Wookie only huffed before continuing on his way into to get food, the doors opening again as Han strolled in, toothpick sticking out of the side of his mouth and one hand already mussing Luke's hair, the boy yelping unhappily.

"That's just not gonna happen anytime soon, blondie."

"Don't call me that—

Solo strutted forward, following Chewbacca's line for food, turning around only to cockily smirk at the younger boy. "You'd have to be able to beat _me_, first. Something that's just far, far out of your reach."

Luke pursed his lips and, eyes fiery, only scoffed. "You just wait, Han. I'll be stronger than both of you soon enough."

Leia only shook her head, scrolling down the list of jobs with a keen eye.

"You want anything in particular?" She asked him pleasantly, as the boy blinked before leaning over for a better look at the monitor.

He shrugged.

"I mean. Something that pays well would be nice. But I don't really want anything too troublesome. Just gonna go where the wind takes me, y'know?"

Leia only watched him sadly, the epitome of wasted talent. Luke could have been _everything_. The best fighter pilot on this side of the galaxy, hell, the whole god damn universe. The other rebel fighters didn't hold a candle to him, and even in Squad Venetus, he was the one who reeled in the biggest catches. Every mission was possible with Luke. Even Lord Vader was only a small grasp above, a step away from having whatever he wanted. Having the Empire in his hand.

She wondered why he never bothered to take it?

What could have happened that ruined his drive?

Instead, she only shook her head sadly and highlighted a couple possible opportunities, printing them up through the feed behind her. "I know, I get you." She swiveled around to delicately hand the papers over to him. "You tell me what you want, okay? I'm letting you get first pick."

He nodded, still rubbing the back of his head and eying the list with marginal interest, making his way to the mess hall, before she called out to him.

"And eat something healthy, alright? I was serious about that!"

"Okay! Okay!"

.

.

.

"And there's your problem!"

Luke scooted out from under the craft, covered in soot and oil and engine exhaust but looking altogether as if he had just saved the galaxy from a catastrophic invasion from tentacle-like deep space monsters.

Next to him, R2 beeped appreciatively, and Wes whistled low.

"I never could understand how you could possibly be able to fix anything without ever taking a mechanics class." Said the pilot with awe.

Luke shrugged.

"I mean," He ranted anew, holding up one of the items he'd plucked out of the toolbox. "I bet you don't even know what this is! What kind of crazy genius are you?"

Luke chuckled, wiping his cheek with the back of his glove and smearing dark ink all over the side of one cheek and the top of his nose. "That's a hydrospanner, Wes! And it's not crazy genius, I've always been good with machines."

Wes only grinned lopsidedly, decidedly impressed with his young comrade. "You're some piece of work, kid."

Luke grabbed a towel off of one of the benches, ruffling up his darkened hair. "Thanks, I think."

"You stink, too."

"Now that was just uncalled for."

Luke dusted off his pants, staining his already inky hands and matted, dirtied clothing. The hangar was filled with a variety of ships, the majority of them standardized x-wing starfightes. Some, like Luke, had their own part of the hangar secluded off for the vast amount of ships they owned. Most of Luke's were the ones that always entertained the most attention whenever anyone came aboard. His Incom T-65 x-wing, remodeled with a sleek body kit and a dark, black paint job, gleamed in silent brooding from behind an array of b-wings.

Luke followed Wes' eyes, which were trained on his x-wing some feet away.

"I just upgraded Novaldex 04-Z cells to the 10-X, but now the 4L4 fusial thrust is burnt out, so I'm gonna have to go down to whatever planet we're orbiting and see if they've got any junk shops."

"You looking for a 5K4 particle accelerator?" Wes asked incredulously. He was surprised Luke actually even knew the names of the parts he had plugged into his fighter jet to make it into the hulking killing machine it was now. He figured, like most of what Luke did, he 'felt' for the right parts. At the moment, he must have boosted up his power cells to the point the fusial thrusts couldn't keep up with it, and blew out his engine. The boy could be so stupid sometimes.

"Yeah, think they'll have any?"

"In the Zeba System?" Wes scoffed. "I _doubt_ it. Might as well, though."

Luke shrugged, heading for the corridor, probably going to make his way to the showers. "I'll take my chances. I don't want to fry my engine before I even have the chance to get into a real dog fight with this baby!"

Wes only rolled his eyes, rubbing stray hair out of his eyes.

Luke was a weird one, that was for sure.

He was just, well, strange. He had those strange eyes, a coruscate of the stratosphere windowed behind his lashes, a freckles hardly even making a mark on the skin of his cheeks, and this way he looked at you, as if he saw right threw you, into your mind, into your _soul. _Like there was a puissant storm that took control of you, no chance for survival, a monster on its own, wrenching the skies apart with its might jaws, a power so far beyond you, that to comprehend it was unimaginable.

The devil was in the details.

The boy in question meandered around the hallways for a bit, picking up some shampoo and conditioner from his apartments and a spare set of clothes, if he could find one. His toothbrush was mysteriously missing as well, and he really hoped to god he hadn't left it on that crappy planet, because there'd be hell to pay—

" So Luke, who is Ben?"

Luke startled, and dropped his towel along with a bottle of shower gel. He cursed quietly, bending over to grab the bottle before tottering over to where Leia was perched on his bed, bird-like with doe eyes, holding a holograph.

_May your journey take you to the stars and beyond –Ben Kenobi_

A blurred image of one grinning teenager with a mop of tangled hair, tanned and lean, and an old man with a bemusing smile.

"He was…a good friend of mine."

"Oh?" Leia blinked. Luke was very young in this picture. Younger than when he had come to the Alliance, even. "What happened to him?"

"He's dead now."

"I'm so sorry." She choked out immediately, blinking in surprise. Or perhaps, not really surprise. He looked old, probably Luke's grandfather or something. The thought of Luke having genetic connections to anyone, and not just being some demigod from deep space eliciting venerate awe in his wake and vertiginous in his line of sight was a bit disturbing.

Luke shook his head with a soft, melancholic smile on his face ."It was his time. I knew him well."

"Was he," She began tactfully, peering into the lined, cracked edges of the photograph. It seemed to have been taken by some second-hand device, ad transferred onto the holograph it was on now. "Your grandfather?" She finished carefully.

Luke blinked once, twice, before sputtering into quiet coughs, so strangled that Leia almost thought them heaves of sorrow, until he lifted his head up to rub the tears away from the corners of his eyes. "Wha—? That old coot? No way! He was a weird one, alright. But he was a good man." A far off look melted his eyes, as he stared off into the portal of space through his window. "He taught me a lot."

Leia blinked at that, wondering what an old man who probably couldn't even lift his hands without a cane possibly have to teach Luke.

"You sound like you miss him." She observed, as she placed the photo back onto the bedside table, hands idly in her lap.

"Sometimes, yeah." Again, that wistful look crossed his face, before it split into another grin. "But, you know, he's not _all_ gone."

Leia tilted her head, ringlets of curls falling down one shoulder. "What do you mean by that?"

But Luke only shrugged, and opened up some of the drawers on the far wall, grabbing a shirt and sweats, and digging around for socks. "The galaxy we live in is pretty strange."

Leia decided that Luke was beginning to not make a lot of sense, and she had done enough snooping for the day, and her efforts hadn't really revealed much of anything about the wayward blonde in front of her, so she sighed, and leaned back, taking a look around the room. It was fairly Spartan, but she had always assumed that Luke didn't have the time nor the talent to pick out a coordinating color scheme, or any actual furniture aside from what was necessary and useful. The bed was grand, and took up most of the room, aside from a nondescript drawer with tools, machines, and wires scattered over its surface. The bedside table cropped out of the wall, and had an alarm built into the steel surface, and a lamp on it. Aside from the photograph, there wasn't any real personality.

The outside of his bedroom was no different, and Leia pursed her lips.

How was she supposed to find out anything about him when, as far as she could see, the trail lead to nowhere?

"Anyway," She got up then, lifting herself off the bed with another look around. A long, floor to ceiling window took up one wall, and a spinning galaxy was lazily swirling off in the distance, long rings from a nearby planet stretching through the foreground. "Sorry for bothering you, I'll leave you to, well, whatever you were doing."

"Showering?" Luke answered amusedly, as the girl walked past him.

"Yeah." She laughed then, a chiming, euphonious sound.

By the time Luke had made his way out of the beckoning steam and hot water droplets, Han was outside the shower entrance, looking deep in his conversation over the phone. The blond pulled over a shirt and watched curiously as Han seemed to be particularly engrossed with whatever the other person on the line was speaking about. He didn't seem to be getting off the comm anytime soon, so Luke popped open his water and took a long sip, wondering when Han would stop shouting and tell him what was going on.

"Really? Seriously. She wouldn't—that's crazy! Why?" Before his mouth opened and closed and no sounds came out.

Luke watched amusedly, as Han seemed to be, for once, completely at a lack of words.

"Oh. Well, that's really, well, that's really kind of her."

He clicked the comm off and blinked dazedly for a moment, as Luke stood behind him wondering what could possibly have him so flabbergasted.

"So?" He asked impatiently, once he realized Han wasn't going to answer.

"I—I'm just really surprised is all."

"No, really?" Luke bit out trippingly. "But what about?"

"Leia she…" He trailed off with a sputter, making a rather immediate impression of a gaping fish. "She resigned from the Alliance."

Luke chocked before frowning incredulously. "That _happens_?"

"Yeah I guess so. But that's not all, she, well," He seemed stunned once more, and looked around the deserted corridor as if the woman in question would turn up, that silent brooding look set in her brows and hands on her hips. "She's coming to work with us."

This time, Luke choked and spit out his water too.

* * *

_A couple things: the squad isn't part of the rebels, and while they have an aversion towards the empire its never been outright said they refuse to take jobs from them either. they're not bounty hunters, though they do quite a few jobs like them. the empire is aware of them, as a rumored company for hire, but don't know where they are/very much else_


	2. MEMORY

_maybe i'm just obsessed with wandering souls. or yoko kanno. or starwars. or all of the above._

_

* * *

_

The twin suns scoured the desert planet into a restless, uneasy submission, life cowering among the wavering lines of dunes, air so dry its form was visible. The sky was a dome of china blue, encasing the sand, and sand, and sand with its endless hands, clouds nothing but a distant memory lost somewhere in the repository of many years.

Tatooine was a planet of long distant dreams, ones you held in your hand long after they crumbled into dust.

The people were cowed into the faces on their lines, until eventually, their frowns and stone eyes became just as much a part of their definition as grains of crushed rock were to this horrible, horrible, outer rim planet.

But Luke had grown up there, and before him, Anakin Skywalker, and there was something terribly frank about this planet and its ability to raise greatness from nothing but a thistle and stone that simply could not be overlooked by its crowded, torn cities and its long stretches of dirt and dust.

Before he even knew how to count, Luke knew exactly what he wanted.

He wanted to get out of here.

**SESSION II **

.

_MEMORY_

"So you want to join the academy, huh?"

The boy nodded. He didn't really look like much of an imperial kind of guy though. If he was much of a guy at all. There was childlike wonder formed around the rims of his eyes, but their bright blue quality was nothing short of deceptive.

And anyway, Biggs wasn't any kind of Imperial either. He supposed no one really was, not on a place like Tatooine. No one gave a shit here. There was spice going through your veins, and a head tottering on your shoulders, brain floating like red balloons into the sky, lost in dreams and partial, euphonious words. He never bothered with anything. Not with school, not with those god damn farms, nothing.

"That's my dream." The boy shoved his hands into his pockets. "Get in, and get out."

Biggs chewed on the edge of the straw, the wheat taste growing stale in his mouth, yet he chewed anyway. Just to get the feeling of dryness out of his mouth. "Good luck with that. The Imperial Academy takes a lot of work."

"So I hear."

There was bitter, and anger in his voice, too. Resentment? Or resignation?

Biggs swung his legs against the metal of the power conductor, a massive, sprawling design of machine, long cylinder fingers full of electricity, power chord lines stretching down the horizon until they were dots with the sand. The wires housed a magnitude of birds, all of a different, man-eating variety, and Biggs could make out the hazy definition of their beaks and bodies between the towers. Him and Luke looked like dwarfed smudges against the Imperial design.

Biggs didn't really know much about Luke back then, he was just a kid always in Anchorhead, and never in school.

They hung out a lot, at the power distribution center mostly, but sometimes, on days like this where the sun was marginally tolerable and the heat, while still a positively colossal force, could be overlooked with the right angle, they maundered up to where the sky met their hands, and would talk endlessly about nothing at all.

Today, Fixer and Camie weren't around to bother about, and Biggs wasn't sure exactly where they had run off to. Most likely a strange, shadowed area of town where they wouldn't be disturbed—ahem. Luckily Deak and Windy weren't around either.

But it was strange, just him and Luke.

And surprisingly, he was curious.

For a kid he hung out with almost all the time, Biggs didn't really know much about him. No one really knew much about him. He was just Luke, that kid who hung around at Anchorhead. He worked odd jobs to whoever would hire him, and that, was that. He was Luke. He had windy hair and cloudy eyes, a face of a hero but hands of a monster. Biggs wasn't sure about him (yet somehow, he knew. He knew Luke was different. Here was something about the golden glow in his eyes, something that pulled and roared like dust storms brewing on the horizon, a force so terrifying and so unreal—

But he knew that wouldn't last.

—x—

—x—

"His parents died." Said Camie one day, as she pulled off her helmet and stretched out like a lean cat against the roof of the landspeeder. Her hair was pulled into a braid that curled around the tendons of her neck, resting shiftlessly against the side of her breast. Biggs watched it, before he quickly turned his head away, not wanting to notice the way the light caught the edges.

"Whose parents?" He echoed distractedly.

She rolled her eyes. "Luke's, of course."

Camie had a strange fascination with the young boy. Something which Fixer was entirely displeased about. Biggs would have commented on it further, however, he terribly enjoyed the sour and contrary expression which wiggled onto the muscled boy's face, like he had just sniffed out a malodorous stench.

"Oh." And then, another quick glance. Just a quick one. Before he tore his eyes away and leaned back against his own landspeeder, palms sweaty, and not from the intense heat. Camie always seemed to look perfectly cool. "So?"

"So?" She rolled her eyes extravagantly. "That's probably why he hangs out at Anchorhead all the time. The other day, Deak told me he has his own apartment there. His _own _apartment! Isn't that cool?"

Biggs shrugged. He didn't really know anyone who owned their own apartment. "Yeah, kinda." And then, with a worried frown. "But why are you listening to _Deak_?"

"Oh, its just gossip." She sighed airily, before adjusting her helmet in her hands. She didn't need one for landspeeders, but she wore one whenever they tried to race. Biggs couldn't really call her much of a good pilot, but she wasn't terrible. For a girl, anyway. "And anyways, lets meet up with the guys and the Tosche Station later, okay?"

"Yeah sure." He answered distantly, unaware of much of anything besides the smooth sway of her hips and the lovely contours of her legs.

He couldn't help but wonder why she was so intrigued by Luke. Sure, he was kind of mysterious. But he wasn't_ that_ interesting.

But Biggs only shook his head. The binary suns were searing the sky into orange as they started their decline, and they should probably get a move on if they wanted to be back in the city by the time sundown really sets in. He hopped into his landspeeder, as Camie tore off in front of him, dust piling into the sky in her wake.

When they met everyone, he noticed that Janek and Luke really hit it off. Even Fixer really didn't mind him, which was a strange notion in itself. Err, well, that was when Camie wasn't speaking about him, or looking at him, or trying to discuss him, or, well…

The moment Biggs walked through the door Camie had already swayed her way over to Fixer, his arm curling around her like a sarlaacc. The night got even worse from there, as Camie and Fixer found a nice corner and somehow Deak and Windy managed to find their way over to the Station, grimy from attempting to work on their skyhoppers.

The group dynamic was really a placing of hierarchy, starting with the best pilots—a spot currently vying between Biggs and Fixer—down to the worst. Deak and Windy definitely presented themselves wherever the rest of the sucky pilots got to be grouped in. Camie, as the only girl, was a whole other rating onto herself.

Biggs wasn't sure where Luke fit in their dynamic, but so far, he seemed to mosey his way in without even touching the controls of a landspeeder—a surprising feet in itself.

The end of the slow night found Janek being tailed by Deak and Windy, and Biggs and Luke the only two who hadn't wandered from the table.

"You go to school, Luke?" He asked after minutes of tense silence as he quietly debated with himself whether speaking to the blonde was a good suggestion to himself or a nice step towards suicide via boredom and or colossal angst-emo issues.

The boy looked cowed for a moment, before sheepishly shaking his head. "Nah, dropped out."

Biggs blinked at this. "Really? Why?"

A far off look returned to Luke's eyes. "Well… I guess cause no one was around to force me to go anymore. My parents died awhile ago."

"No kidding." Biggs' eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry to hear that."

The blond shrugged uncomfortably. Biggs would later come across the information that Luke had never known his parents, and had instead been raised by his uncle and aunt. And that he had, in fact, simply walked away from them, but had never bothered to correct Biggs' interpretation that the reason Luke lived by himself was because he had always lived with his parents and they had died, leaving him to fend for himself. "It was a while ago now. I never really bothered with my education after that. I had a job by then, anyway."

"But you want to go to the Academy?"

"Yupp."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Biggs asked with no small amount of skepticism.

"Easy." Luke grinned, a charming quirk of his mouth that made Biggs suddenly realize what a sunny disposition hid behind the chagrin and morose lines of his face. "I'm gonna be the best pilot ever."

Biggs laughed at that one.

—x—

—x—

Turns out, Luke wasn't really kidding.

Two times around through Beggar's Canyon had Biggs schooled like he was a toddler struck blind and deaf at the wheels, Luke not even breaking a sweat. The engine of his skyhopper hummed quietly as the boy hopped onto its hood, looking quite pleased with himself. The boy had legitimately threaded the Stone Needle, curving his ship with a certain graceless quality, a strange curling arch and then he was out the other side, and Biggs was left to stare in shock. The two of them had tore into the maze-like race track, while Camie and Fixer had taken a slower start, pushing each other and crumbling into laughter, not minding getting left in the dust.

"Well," Biggs shook his hair out, in nothing short of amazement. "I guess you were right, kid. You really could be the best pilot in the whole galaxy."

"Err—well, that was a bit of an exaggeration." He rubbed the back of his head, swinging his legs idly. "But that's the idea!"

Biggs wondered just how far talent would go, and if possible, could it hoister Luke through eons of hyper space, into the overwhelming capital planet of the galaxy, a place even Biggs had only heard through legends and sepia-colored, low quality pictures?

Watching Luke maneuver his craft through small openings of jagged rock, dive into all angles, and swoop through impressive canyons, he wondered just how old he really was.

The Darklighter family was considerably well-known, as was his brother, his father, and of course, Biggs himself. There was something to be said about the notorious notion the young Darklighter had about himself and his maturity, one he had never questioned until Luke's wide delphinium eyes centered onto him.

Later, as Biggs discovered more and more about Luke's ambiguous beginnings (or what the boy would confess to him), Camie and Fixer eventually coasted towards the presumed finish line—the place had once housed thousands of pod races, but since the sport had been outlawed, the deserted finish line was nothing more then a couple etched lines in the dirt—cuddled together and whispering in hushed voices.

Usually, this would have made Biggs shift his weight restlessly, unsure as to why such a deep, questionable stirring wrenched his stomach at the display, but for some reason, he was too engrossed with Luke to feel the sickening feeling he got when Fixer splayed his large hands over the base of Camie's neck.

—x—

—x—

Luke left Tatooine with his eyes skyward, and Biggs was left to ponder the questionable life he lead on this godforsaken planet.

Nothing seemed even marginally as important anymore. Tending to the farm used to be an annoying chore, now was nothing more than a tedious, meaningless waste of his time. And yet somehow, _everything _was a waste of his time.

Sandsurfing was now only a ridiculous, immature stab at superiority staged by Fixer, racing landspeeders through Anchorhead no longer held any charm, and Camie, surprisingly, left no vile after-taste in his mouth when she swayed into Fixer's arms.

All he could think of, really, was Luke.

His best friend, his only rival, only sixteen and yet already eons more mature then he would ever be.

The day he left Tatooine too, to join his friends' footsteps that echoed in the empty galaxy, was the day his life really started.

—x—

—x—

Biggs had escaped the encasings of their poverty-ridden home planet, attempting to scour the galaxy much like his best friend had done, following his footsteps, searching for him.

Luke, he learned, hadn't just maundered the systems on spice freighters, hopping his way from place to place and crashing on strange, uninhabited planets like he had first assumed he would. Biggs had figured that Luke would, much like he had on Tatooine, gather enough money by running about doing odd jobs no one else would take in a millennia of years, eventually scrounging up enough cash to get into the Imperial Academy, get to fly a couple ships, and maybe even serve on a Star Destroyer.

No, he'd bee consorting with the Rebel Alliance, at the time nothing more than a couple hundred decently trained, young-cropped pilots and a handful of important figureheads.

When Biggs joined, still chasing the heels of Luke's shadow, he was stunned to find that, after planting a footprint colossal enough to shake the very foundations of the Alliance, Luke had left.

With a Corellian smuggler, no less.

Biggs remembered a mangled, concocted dream he and Luke had, involving a starship and some vague plans for a future, an education at the Imperial Academy, and maybe a couple marriages here and there before they ended up retired on Naboo, far lost in the lake country, where they'd lose their hearing and putter around a nice lake cabin, their only company each other and a couple Gungans.

But at the rate Luke was diving head first into the very core of the amassed plan of the destruction of the Empire, the more he realized that this useless, ridiculous dream, was nothing.

His inquiries for a Tatooine farm boy who may or may not still be five three and something, with sunny hair and a kind of quirky smile lead him to a rather straight faced forerunner of the alliance.

"Well, I'm very sorry to hear that." A comely woman—girl really, there was growing to be done in her bones, but the set lines of her curt frown was the epitome of maturity—with chocolate curls done in loose rings around her ears, the rest sliding down her back, had consoled him rather unsympathetically.

He supposed she probably had many more important duties to take care of rather than help out some backwater farm boy.

"I haven't seen Luke in a couple months now." She confessed quietly, a certain hopelessness engraved into the walnut fabric of her eyes. "I'm so worried about him, he—

She stopped then, and the bitter fury rose in her eyes once more, coming out like ice wind from her mouth. "At any rate, the Alliance can't help silly friends find their way back together. We have an actual purpose, besides reuniting farmers."

Biggs supposed he'd caught her at a very, very, bad time.

Either way, he did manage to hunt his way around the outer rim planets on Luke's trail, and eventually, heard about a certain mercenary group called Venetus.

When Darklighter thought of mercenaries, he thought of rough-skinned, muscled men with nondescript faces and a variety of blasters hooked onto their long, rope-like belts, boots scuffed in mud and burly jaw line clear cut against the cloth of their shirts. He supposed that he could throw in a couple glittersticks, and enough spice to fuck up a rancor, and he'd have a pretty apt description to rely on every time he asked around for the group. No matter what moon he went to, or what backwater planet he crashed onto, there was always at least some one in the outer rim who knew of the group, albeit the retelling of information was foggy and vague at best.

A better description for Luke's rag-tag team would be cowboys.

At least, that's what he thought when he'd first seen Han Solo.

And more importantly, he'd never thought to think he'd might join them.

—_x—_

—_x—_

"Name?"

"Luke."

A startled, questioning look. "Just Luke?"

A sheepish shrug. "Err—yeah. Just Luke. That's me."

The smuggler looked a lot more confused then he was in the beginning, as if a surname was the most consequential part of a name. Luke supposed it really was, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He'd always been just Luke, and there really wasn't much of a point in changing that.

"So you're part of the Alliance, huh?" Solo pulled out a cigarette. "Want one?"

Luke shook his head politely, plopping down onto the bench beside the towering man. Said towering man looked down at the peculiarly short boy with no small amount of curiosity, sizing up the lean muscles that webbed around thin bones, the wide Prussian blue eyes that looked much too bright for his face, and the mop of lemon colored hair.

"I'm a pilot," He said, and while Han supposed the boy was the shy type, there was a hint of pride in his voice, as if nothing in the whole god damn galaxy mattered except for the exhilarating rush of wind pushing against wings, taking into the everlasting blue stratosphere. He jerked his head to a modified X-wing. "That's my ship over there."

The lean beauty's sleek contours were intensified as it rested near to the Millenium Falcon, a hunkering brute of steel and metal. Han wondered where on Correllia the boy could have possibly picked up that body kit for his x-wing, let alone its hover system.

"No kidding." Han's brows shot up. He wasn't aware that the Alliance was cradle robbing now. "And how old are you?"

"Turning seventeen." He answered candidly, as if his age hardly mattered to him.

Han near choked on his inhale. "Say what?" He was betting nineteen at the youngest. "Aren't you a little too young to be in the Alliance?"

Luke shook his head, a waspish grin crawling across his face. "Nah. They think I'm twenty."

Han scoffed at that. "Yeah right." He muttered. He'd seen the boy fly in, he'd been shooting down targets as Han had entered the system with the latest delivery of smuggled goods—he was a smuggler, anyhow, first and foremost. He could care less _who _he was smuggling for—into Dantooine, when he spied the smaller air craft. He was surprised the boy wasn't some old general or something like that, considering his maneuvering abilities. Not to mention uncanny accuracy.

No wonder the Rebels had kept a wisely closed mouth against the blatant lie—they needed the kid.

"And why would you tell me that?" He asked him innocuously.

Another shrug. "I dunno. I feel like I can trust you."

Han rolled his eyes at that. He'd learned after years that feeling stuff didn't mean shit.

"Whatever you say kid." He stood up and stretched out his back, spitting out his cigarette and dousing it with a good scrub of his boot, before heading back to his ship and unloading.

He hadn't noticed the kid following him.

"So, what do you do?"

He was pretty curious for a teenager. Usually they moodily kept to themselves, or at least he presumed, judging from his former self.

"I'm a smuggler."

"Oh. So what do you smuggle?"

"All kinds of stuff."

"Like?"

Han paused in shouldering a crate. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"I'm curious." The boy, at least, was useful, and helped him with a box of spare parts. "I've never been outside of my home planet until almost a year ago, and even then, I feel like there's so much to see out there."

Han looked at him quizzically. "Haven't you ever been in combat?" It seemed more then plausible. The kid was good. And if the alliance was shipping him out to fight, he'd certainly get to see some pretty far off places."

Luke shrugged. "Here and there." Like it was nothing big. Perhaps a couple skirmishes outside the star destroyer.

But fighting was fighting. Which meant putting yourself in a very dangerous disposition which had every right to lead to disaster, and ultimate death. And Han was nothing but a self-preserving kind of guy, and the thought of fighting heroically for a dying cause was a death ticket—and kind of lame. "Aren't you a little too young to die?"

"I won't die."

"You can never be so sure of that." Han mused.

They entered the shipping center of the base, a large, domed garage large enough to house a star destroyer, jammed with ziggurats of boxes and cranes for the heavier ones. Hoarse shouts of workers echoed off the walls, and Luke looked quite forlorn with his oversized box, staring up into the lines of crates and boxes.

"Sure I can." There was a sly smirk on his face, as if he new of something Han didn't.

Han decided it was better not to argue his point. The kid was young, and had no combat experience (he hastily assumed because of his age). He'd learn eventually.

They finished with the shipment after Chewie had come back, the three hoisting a towering starship engine into the center. Captain Solo was clearly amazed that Luke could carry a fair share of the weight with his small frame, and the boy hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Say kid." He began, still dazed. "Wanna go get something to eat in the mess hall?"

Luke rubbed his stomach, as if he was just now realizing how hungry he really was. "Yes, krith I'm hungry."

The only thing Han could think was that the boy ate like a wookie. The smuggler only watched bemusedly as the boy shoveled in a variety of foods he'd never dream of touching, like a man who weathered starvation and knew primitively to eat when gifted with food. Well, the lanky teenager sure was tiny, if nothing else, and Han supposed it must be the growth spurt talking. He had half a mind to just take the boy with him. He could use a pilot like that—Han was sort of mediocre at best, and Chewie was a freaking Wookie, so they could certainly use the help. It would make travelling around systems a hell of a lot safer, and, well, the boy did say he wanted to see some action…

"So Luke, where'd you learn to pilot like that?"

The boy looked at him comically, noodles hanging from his mouth. He quickly choked them down. "Around, I guess." And as an afterthought, "I flew speeders back on my home planet."

"Speeders and x-wings are kind of in a different league." The smuggler pointed out wryly.

"All the same to me!" And with a flourish, the boy dug in again.

"But—you can't be serious." Han looked at the blonde, who in turn, was blinking at him strangely. "I mean, you're just a little squirt—

"I take offense to that."

"It takes years to pilot like that. Aiming, steering, it's not a walk in the park. Definitely nothing like piloting a speeder."

"I've always been good at that kind of stuff." Luke said. "Maybe it's genetics?"

"Well damn." Han whistled. "That's some good genes you've got going on there."

—x—

—x—

Seeing Luke in action—being partnered with him a couple times, even—made Han open his eyes to the sheer talent the boy was. He could wring out a TIE fighter five to one, and damn, if those weren't some good odds right there. Venetus wouldn't be anything without the kid.

"She really quit the Alliance then?" Luke asked dazedly, as he and Han drifted over towards the hangar bay.

Han made a face. "Leia couldn't do that. I'm sure she'll still be helping them out."

And then, with a contrary look. "Which means they'll get special priority." The Corellian had an aversion towards Mon Mothma. He was most likely rather upset that now, since Leia

"It's all money to me." Luke only shrugged.

Han didn't think it was, but he made no comment.

"Well anyway, I guess we'll be seeing her around more." Perhaps Han _was _a bit pleased by this. It wasn't like Leia was hard on the eyes or anything.

"Yeah." There was the beginnings of a smile on Luke's face. "I guess we will, huh?"

The thought of Leia sort of warmed a bit in him. Leia reminded him of something he couldn't quite think of, a memory that had smoothed out on the turbulent shores of his consciousness to the point he couldn't recall it, diffused into something tinge at the back of his awareness. At any rate, the girl had sort of tied him to the alliance. He wasn't sure what sort of serendipitous notion had lead him to meet Leia, shake her hand on that cold October morning in Belsavis, hovering right outside the atmosphere as Mon Calamari introduced them heartily.

"_Princess, this is Luke." _He said with a jovial voice. _"Our crackshot pilot."_

Leia gave him an amused look, as if she couldn't quite believe this farm-washed boy with a raging farmer's tan and sun freckles could possibly be the one she'd been hearing about.

"_Pleasure." _Her hand was cold, and kind of limp in his.

But at any rate, it was, if he had to trace it back to his barest roots, Leia who kept him around. Luke was a wanderer, he'd known it since he wandered out of Owen and Beru's life, just a blurred form in the scarred, desert distance, binary suns sweltering against his back as he lazily walked along the road, off into the vauge unknown. He'd known it as he sat on the power conductors with Biggs, looking into the stars and thinking of freedom. Even when he was there in the Alliance, exotic gas planets right beneath his fingertips as he traced their outlines from the ship's window, the vestiges of space called out to him.

Leia was like a little piece of home.

Perhaps, if her latest move away from her beloved Rebel Alliance was anything to balance off, she felt the same.

Han saluted him as he stalked off, saying how he and Chewie had to get ready to deliver something to Borgo Prime, just two systems away. Currently, Zeba was a large, dome shaped hue in the windows, as they still orbited it slowly.

Luke gazed at it for a few moments, and then to the flickering stars, lambent yellow that marked distant worlds he was yet to find. There was an itch that tingled all over his body as he thought about it, all the places he hadn't been to, all the skies he hadn't seen. He didn't understand how such a flighty tendency could control him so incorrigibly. Ben—Obi wan—had commented that maybe it was something the force wanted him to do out there. His words, back in the dank must of a whole dug into the sand, lit the flame that still burned inside him.

_The force._

He breathed it.

It was real, it was in his veins, in his father's veins, intangible but still left the dusty aftertaste in his mouth as if it could be tasted, smelt in the wind, seen in the blurry instances of his peripheral vision.

* * *

_getting good or getting bad? _


	3. TIME TO KNOW

_It's pretty late, I know... i know... its hard to find inspiration sometimes I guess. but we do pick up pace some, so that's always good.

* * *

_

"Han!"

Leia ushered the scruffy smuggler over with a sharp flutter of her hands. The pirate looked miffed, as he had already gotten a tray of food and had been en route to a cozy spot next to Chewie in the ship's main dining hall, close to the windows with an expanse of the star-lit swirling galaxies in the distance.

He was about to balance his tray, plus drink (the kind which guaranteed some amount of inebration, of course) plus food into one hand, when she waltzed up to him.

"Mission for you."

She handed him a data pad.

Han groaned. "What? Now?"

Leia narrowed her eyes. "Because I'm sure you're doing something _much _more important."

"I'm getting nourishment!" Han protested.

"You're getting wasted!" She pointed accusingly to the Corellian beer he had in one arm. "At… two in the afternoon! For krith's sake!"

Han grumbled in response, but grabbed the pad out of her hands before she could sour his mood—it was inevitable, he supposed—further, and threw it onto the table. Chewie looked up from his food that looked more like sludge and frog intestines as it clattered to a halt in front of him.

"We'll do it." Han interrupted, as he noticed her mouth open from his peripheral vision. He'd gotten very good at predicting moments in which Leia would harp. "You can go… kill babies with your eyes now, or whatever you like to do in your spare time."

Leia narrowed her eyes, looking nonplussed, before she spun around and made for the exit.

"Women." Han harrumphed, plopping into the chair opposite of Chewie haphazardly.

The Wookie gargled in response.

"What? —No!" Han frowned. "It's not like that!"

Chewie growled again, and Han was further annoyed. "You're imagining things." He folded his hands behind his head. "Not you too! Get off my case man."

Han made a face and Chewie looked a tad bit smug, but their moment of undercurrent conversation was lost in translation as Wedge sauntered up, geared up like he had just come back from taking a whirl around the planet below, and looking as if afterward he'd spent most of the afternoon under his craft.

Han didn't understand these Rebel pilot guys. They valued their planes like they were God's gift to the world, hell, Luke probably salivated at the thought of a Plutonium melded crankshaft. Wedge was no different, judging from the smudges of grease that lined his cheeks like war paint.

"Any of you guys seen Luke?" He asked as he took a swig of his drink, tray in one hand.

Han shrugged. "I'm not the kid's keeper. He was here like an hour ago."

"Where?"

"The showers."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen Ru either." Captain Ferrell, who had been sitting opposite of Han's table with Jon Vander commented.

Wedge's brows furrowed. "Her too, huh? Wonder where they could be."

"Who knows?" Jon said loftily. "What do pregnant people do in their spare time? Complain about foot cramps?"

Ferrell punched him in the arm. "Dude, don't joke about things like that. It's _terror._"

Vander rolled his eyes. "No. It's _foot cramps._"

Before the too could divulge further into childish retorts Chewie rumbled out a response. The three other men pointedly looked to Han for any resemblance of a translation. "Said he saw 'em in the Hangar Bay." Han shrugged, as if translating Wookie speak was what he did with his life, which may or may not be true considering his partner. "Luke's probably fixing his ship or something, got lost. The kid has a knack for disappearing."

"What's all this about?"

Wes moved into the fray, sitting beside Han, and Wedge moved to take the seat next to Chewie.

Captain Ferrell leaned over the back of his seat. "Looking for Luke. And Ru. You seen either of them?"

"Yeah." Wes nodded. "Luke left to go grab a particle accelerator before we leave orbit. Ru went with him."

Ferrell was puzzled. "But for what?"

Wes shrugged, diving into his Zeneban pie. "Who knows."

**SESSION III**

**.**

_TIME TO KNOW_

Zeba's main city, Zenesia (the planet seemed to favor the letter, which ached on Luke's tongue from a lack of use with most forms of the character Z) was much like the rest of the planet. A watery yellow sky, that seemed to drip down into the drab, stone buildings. The stores flourished, even if they lacked most hues of the visual sight, and Luke had a hard time keeping sight of Ru, who danced around the frivolous shops like a butterfly around a garden of flowers. It was hard to keep track of her, among the current of shoppers shuffling around them like salmon.

The young Jedi had come down mainly to fish around for some spare parts for his T-65 Incom. Zeba was somewhat infamous for its parts Black Market. The kind that was distributed around from guys like Han—although the man said he was reformed, once a smuggler, always a smuggler— and eventually found their way into the dingy, sea salt smelling shops of Zeba's gray water shore.

Zeba wasn't anything like Tatooine, which was just so far from the Empire and its regular search patterns that it was practically a mass hub of parts which were banned on most planets. The kind that the Empire wanted to keep away from the Rebels at all costs. Of course, Tatooine was so backwater and so god damn far that it hardly posed much of a threat. Zeba though, was close enough that it posed a problem on occasion. But even then, you hardly saw an imp within fifty light years from this place.

But anyway.

Luke's original plan was spoiled by Ru's appearance as he was lifting for take off.

Being pregnant made people weird. Ru had never cared much for what she wore, considering the fact that she hardly wore much else besides her fighter pilot gear. Now that she was pregnant and officially off the roster, her lack of wardrobe seemed to be making an impact on her psyche and sanity as a whole. She had sort of begged slash assumed that she could tag along, and Luke didn't have the heart to say no to a psychologically degrading, pretty pregnant woman.

So off they went.

In retrospect, Luke should have realized how he would spend the majority of his time.

"Look at the colors!" Ru gushed.

She held one of the local fashion, which looked like a long dress that ended somewhere beneath her toes. Its fiery colors were picked up in the unsubsiding wind, and Luke wondered how in Hell he ended up here.

Ru Murleen was infamous for being kind of an asshole. She was good, unquestionably, but she didn't care much for the rookies. Or people's opinions in general. Nor did she care much for anything really, besides practicing her skills. Although she was notorious for her collecting of boyfriends… And it was downright backwards to see her here, looking chipper and bright like a reborn child straight from nirvana, holding up _fashion, _for kirth's sake.

At any rate, all which Luke previously knew of the young pilot was completely and irrevocably trashed ever since she got pregnant. Maybe it was the hormones.

"It's great." He said simply, unsure of what else to say.

She danced onwards, wind picking at her soft hair from under her wide brimmed hat—something else she had picked up on the planet.

Luke scratched his at his hair as he followed her around, dust and crumbled stone getting in his eyes from the whipping breeze.

The two maundered around some more, Ru invariably ending up in some sort of fashion store, and Luke pondering on the weight of two different core processors. The shop keeper insisted that they were grade A, built right out of an Imperial factory and smuggled in by one of the more reliable shipments this side of Corellia, but Luke wasn't so sure. The boy had a knack for picking out liars, Ru mused as she watched the scene unfold. An uncanny ability to pluck out the soured words straight out of the mouth of a poker face. He was using his knack well at the moment, rebuking the merchant until he looked mostly cowed.

"This is definitely made off of some backwater planet," Luke was ranting swiftly. "Look at these wires right here? Flimsy second-class conductors. These things'll break by the end of next week, that's for sure."

The comely woman decided to intervene before Luke got himself into a fist fight with an angered, bitter Zeba native and ended up attracting the attention of everyone on the busy street. She moved for Luke's arm, the younger boy stilling at her soft fingers on his arm, and she was about to scold him for being so temperamental, when she spied something that immediately made her pale.

"Luke," She whispered into his ear with a frightful shake. "Luke, we have to get out of here."

The boy put down the two processors he was holding into the bin of used parts, the shopkeeper protesting their ungraceful landing into the heap. "What?" His eyes narrowed, attempting to scan the perimeter of vagabonds. "Why? What's wrong?" He didn't see anything else…but, well, smelly vagabonds.

Ru Murleen shook her head, tilting her hat down, curls flying everywhere. "Not here." She tugged his arm deeper into the dim, tarp-covered shop, and he followed reluctantly.

The two herded into one of the corners of the shop, dim in the shadows where the bright screen of Zeba's yellowy sky couldn't penetrate through the flimsy cloth over the store. Ru's eyes were hard and angry, like a bitter cat spitting fury. Luke's curiosity raised its head.

"There, walking past the food stall."

Luke squinted. "All I see is a bunch of nasty vagrants."

Ru hissed quietly. "No… the one in the armor, you see him?"

An old woman clutching two smaller children brushed past, leaving a man conspicuously dressed entirely in dark armor to their sight. While vagrants and law breakers were common in the small, winding streets of Zeba, to see someone like this was… certainly uncommon. He actually looked a bit imposing, blasters lined up on his belt, helmet covering his head entirely. He had a fluent way of walking, and his hurried pace meant he wasn't around for some light afternoon shopping.

Luke's eyes narrowed. "A bounty hunter." He said flatly, coming to the correct conclusion.

Sure, no one on Squad Venetus liked bounty hunters—they were their prime competition, if one could say Venetus had any competition at all—and mostly they were the sort of people that didn't play well with others. Luke couldn't stand most of them, even though a couple came and went during his course in the Squad. But mostly, while they were a deep aggravation and not anything to be scoffed at, they mostly weren't dangerous…

Ru nodded. "Not just any bounty hunter." Her voice was so soft he could scarcely hear it over the dull roar of wind and flapping tents.

"That's Boba Fett." She inclined her head, as the man left their sight entirely, twisting into a dark alley. "He's a renowned Bounty Hunter. He works in… different circles then we do, if you catch my drift." And then, quieter. "I hear he even works for Vader from time to time."

Luke stilled completely under her arm, tense and wire-strung, and Ru tilted her head to see his face stone cold. Blue eyes wide but unseeing. Ru wondered what had him looking so… she didn't even know the right word, as she had never, in her time spent with Luke, seen the expression on his face. Frightened, perhaps? But Luke had never, not once, been frightened over anything. Not even when he lopped off that sarlaac, or leapt into a den of wargs. It almost made her worried to see such a crazed look on him.

Ru frowned. "Luke?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. Has he passed?"

The woman let go of his arm, holding the hem of her dress as she peered out into the street. She turned around, a signaled him forward.

"He's gone." She said.

The two shared a look.

"We should get back and report this." Ru insisted, and Luke certainly agreed.

If this guy was working for the imps, no one on the squad was going to be pleased to hear it. Sure, to the outside eye the hunkering space cruiser looked like a medical facility for single pregnant woman—and hey, with Ru, they sure did complete the look—but that didn't mean that Luke was willing to risk Imps storming the hull of the ship and finding out that, really, they weren't anything of the sort. They had papers, and they had identification, but the lack of pregnant people might give them away.

.

.

.

Han coughed as the ship sputtered to a halt onto the craggy surface of Zeba.

It was bright, ungodly so, and he shielded his eyes against the sun which burned everything. Zeba had no atmosphere, so it was almost absurdly cold and sunny, and held nothing but rocks and water on its surface. Already, Han wasn't liking this place. From the way Chewie moaned about as he climbed out of the ship, Han figured he didn't either.

"C'mon buddy," He waved the wookie over to where he was crossing a deserted street. "Let's get this over with."

Leia's mission had been pretty straightforward. Han was posing as an underground wookie dealer, maundering around Zeba with the rest of the seedy vagrants in an attempt to find a buyer. Squad Venetus had a very hefty informant clientele due to the many bounty hunters in their fold, and currently Han was going to see if he could wheedle some information out of one of their more stingy ones.

The guy was apparently some sort of mushroom seller—and no, not the ingredient kind.

"Alright, here's the deal." Han explained as they made their way through a couple alleyways. "I'm going to go in there, knock down the door, and say I'm here selling you off to someone, and that the Rebel's have paid me big to pass on some information. My orders are to kill 'em if he doesn't talk, right?"

Chewie made a mournful noise.

Han guffawed. "Nah bud, I'm not _actually _selling you. But, that doesn't really matter. All you gotta do is just point the blaster at him and look menacing, y'know?"

Chewie affirmed.

The smuggler sauntered over a few streets, hooting at women and generally playing the part of a wookie dealer much too seriously, as he was dressed rather stylishly, and looked like he had quite the underhanded industry.

"The Imps have been really quite, haven't they?" Han asked lowly to Chewie, who plodded along side him.

"Yeah, yeah your right. Good for business. But that can't be anything good. If the rebels are so yellow-belied they think they can stick their noses this close to the capital, you wonder if maybe it's a trap."

Chewie growled low, Han nodding thoughtfully.

"That's true. But what could they be distracted by? There isn't much that could hold their attention so long."

Han must have looked strange, carrying on a one-sided conversation.

"No, you're right. Maybe the Alliance is up to something?"

They came to the building, and Han flicked the safety of his blaster, opening the door and quietly moving up the stairs. They were old and mostly broken, and tufts of dust took to the air, and Chewie whined low. Han shushed him, and continued upwards, looking for the room with the silver handle.

He found it, and kicked the door open.

An old man was standing by the window, and jumped at the sudden intrusion. The apartment was small, and the entire wall by the window was deteriorating, holes manifesting where the plaster had long since been chipped off by the constant wind. Han wrinkled his nose; the whole place smelt like shrooms. This would make sense, as the man had many bags of them laying on the table by the window, and there seemed to be quite a few growing in the corner of the room.

"H—Hey!" The man leapt up, hands in the air. "What's with the blasters? You here for shrooms?"

Han shook his head, and spat in the corner. "Nah. I'm here for somethin' else."

The man looked apprehensive. "If it's money you're looking for… I don't got much of that. I'm makin' a sale this afternoon, if you wanna stick around that long."

Han scoffed. "Shit, not that either. Listen, you got what I want, don't you?"

He furrowed his brows. "…magic shrooms?"

"No, no." Han strutted closer, until his blaster end was almost inches away from the man. The old guy backed away slowly, pressed against the open window. "Don't play dumb. You know about it, don't you? What those imps are up to…"

The man looked relived. "You're speaking of the Imperial Plans?" He sighed. "Ah yes, those. I'm assuming the Rebel Alliance sent you."

"Something like that." Han answered snippily, not in the mood for a conversation. "You know about it?"

"There's a lot you hear when you're sellin' shrooms." He pointed out. "People like talking on them."

"I don't need a run down of your product, old man." Han spat. "I need the intel. You got it?"

He nodded, hands lowering a bit. "Yeah… yeah. They've been real secretive about it. Been a long time comin'—a couple years, even. They're building something. Something crazy… 'to rid the galaxy of all opposition', they say. Not a lot of people are talkin', but I hear its huge, and gonna be working soon enough."

Han's brows knit. "So what is it? Some kinda weapon?"

The man looked a little scared. "That's the thing. I hear it's… it's gigantic. Gotta be, to take that long, right? They got a name for it. It's called the—

The next events happened in quick succession.

Chewie called out in alarm, lowering his blaster. Han snapped to rapt attention, head turning to where Chewie had yelled out to. The open window was adjacent to another building, and Han got one look at a man dressed in armor, helmet secured over his features, as he walked away—sniper in hand. The informant was shot dead in his sentence, crumpling to the ground—forward spatter coating the front of Han's shirt from the exit wound.

Han kicked the table over in rage.

"_Dammit_!"

Chewie whimpered.

Han took a few breaths, before shaking his head. "No, this isn't your fault, Chewie. I should have taken him somewhere away from the window."

He looked back to the empty building, where the man had been standing. He had to be professional, to make a shot from so far off. From the angle, most of Han would be hidden by the deteriorating wall, so at least he wouldn't have to worry about his identity.

What was more troubling, was who the man was working for. Obviously a Bounty Hunter—you didn't get that good at espionage without being in a certain line of work—but there were a variety of people who could have hired him out. None of them were good for Squad Venetus, or the Alliance.

Obviously, Leia thought so too.

"What do you mean the informant was killed?"

Her voice was alarmed, and she put down the datapads she had been carrying.

Behind her, the doors slid open to reveal a frazzled looking Ru, one hand clutching her heavily pregnant stomach and the other dragging a haggard looking Luke.

Han swallowed. "Well, we got down there, incognito and shit, and we entered the guys apartment. He said something about the Imperials building some kind of weapon—said it'd been in construction for a hell of a long time. It was big too, and top secret 'cause a lot of people aren't talking. Said it was some kind of weapon."

"And?" Leia's voice was reaching shrill hysteria.

Han shrugged. "And he got shot. Right between the eyes—it was a good one. Another bounty hunter was in one of the building's and shot him clean. Guess he either wanted the guy dead for drug reasons, or someone knew he was a rebel informant and wanted him dead."

There was nothing relieving in Leia's grave face. "They knew he was a rebel informant?" She repeated. "Then it was the Empire."

Han gulped. "Well we can't just come to conclusions like that—

"We saw him too."

Ru pulled Luke over with her, standing at her frightening height of five three. She turned to Han. "Was he wearing this green colored kind of armor? Helmet, sniper on his back?"

Han nodded.

"He was there when we were shopping. That was Boba Fett, he's a notorious bounty hunter who has no shame. He works for the empire, and I hear he's even employed directly by Vader from time to time. Some say he's one of the best."

"This isn't good." Leia murmured, looking much more contemplative then before.

Luke remained stonily silent.

"It doesn't matter to us." Han blinked, wondering why she was so upset. Sure, he was pissed that someone got to the informant before him, but that was more of an issue of personal pride. He didn't like getting bested, especially by other bounty hunters. It wasn't like one man—no matter what his reputation—was gonna put Squad Venetus out of business. And he definitely wouldn't be going after other bounty hunters. "Why are you worrying Leia? If this is a financial thing, there really isn't any issue."

"It's not that.." Leia frowned thoughtfully, a far off look on her face.

Eventually she shook her head. "Either way, this system's been compromised. If an imperial bounty hunter is sniffing around here, I don't want him coming anywhere near us. I'd like to avoid the imps as much as possible."

"Ru? Could you tell Cap that we're setting course for the next system over?" The woman nodded, spinning to the door to make for the bridge.

Leia gave Han a simpering look. "Thank you for your services, Captain. You are now free to get drunk in the mess hall if you wish."

Han looked more then pleased, saluting her as he left as well, Chewie in tow.

That left Leia and Luke.

"You're not worried for the Squad." Luke noted. Leia looked guilty. "It's the Alliance, isn't it?"

"You know I've resigned from my post there." She sighed, leaning against the side of the main control system. "But I'm still very close with them. My father still works closely with them, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't keep in contact." Her eyes softened. "They're all like my family, you know? I've worked with them for a long time."

Luke studied her for a long time, and Leia felt like there was something behind those sky irises, something large and _frightening, _familiar but looming behind them almost omnisciently.

She averted her gaze.

"Do you wish you still worked there?" He asked her quietly.

Immediately Leia shook her head. "No! I'm happy here. I like the Squad—I like how we get things done fast, I like how I can actually make a difference here. In the Alliance, some times it would take months to come to a decision."

Luke seemed to take this for what it was—an answer that was true, but kept to itself. Leia was happy here, she liked what they did; but she hated the Empire. Much more then anyone else here. Han didn't like it because they were too stifling. Wedge didn't like the harsh piloting laws and Wes was just kind of going with the flow. No one on the squad really _liked _the Empire (if there was really anyone out there who did) but no one hated it so vehemently as did Leia. It was part of the reasons she had risen the ranks of the Alliance so fast; she had a purpose, she wanted it done, and she had the drive and determination.

It was about ironic, how much of opposites they were.

"And if we worked for the Empire?" Luke's eyes were lidded and smoldering, testing her, and she bristled at the very thought. "We haven't but it's always a possibility."

Leia bit her lip, looking like she had a few choice words on the subject. Eventually, she closed her eyes and exhaled. "Then, we work for the Empire. I'm not going to like it, but I'll shut up and do the job."

.

.

.

"She really said that?" Han guffawed, as Luke caught up to him in the mess hall.

The blonde nodded. "Yup. Didn't look like she appreciated me asking but she answered all the same."

Han blinked, looking so dumb founded it was near comical. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened again. "I'm just… surprised. It's one thing to join us; I mean, we're one sexy group, y'know? But Leia _hates _imps."

"I know." Said the blonde, with feeling.

"This is good though," Han continued, as if he hadn't heard Luke at all. "Imps pay a lot, even though with everything else they're stingy. When they want something done, they dish out those credits like they're made from trees or something. I know we make bank now, but," The man grinned. "Well, if we take a couple jobs from those guys the Millenium Falcon will be looking like its right off the assembly line."

Luke harrumphed at that, looking like he'd only believe it when he saw it. He stabbed at his pasta. "Well don't get your hopes up. They know of us—but most likely not in a good way."

"There's nothing they know in a good way," Han waved him off. "Aside from like, Vader, or something. Everyone else is just kind of looked on by the emperor with disdain, you know? At least that's what I get from the guy. Not like you ever see his face on the hologram or anything."

At he mention of Darth Vader, Luke stilled in eating. It was brief, and afterwards he began anew, but Han caught it out of the corner of his eye. The blonde had some sort of… aversion towards the guy. Well, everyone did, but Luke more so then usual.

Han wondered why.

But there was little point in asking. Luke was anything but conversational. Han could count the things he knew about Luke on one hand, and even then most of them were fairly useless—like what kind of shampoo he used. Err, maybe that one wasn't _completely _useless. Girls came up to Luke on every planet, cooing at his feathery hair.

"You're probably right." Luke conceded, and Han looked up, almost having half-forgotten the conversation. "He seems like an angry person."

"Vader?" Han tilted his head, looking for the reaction. It was subtle. "Or the emperor?"

"…both?" Luke peppered his food. "I dunno. It's not like I've met either."

"Yeah, yeah this is true I—" Han blinked, looking down at the object in Luke's hands.

"Didn't I just have that—?" Han looked down to his left, where he'd been sure he'd placed the shaker.

Luke watched him, bemused. "You didn't look like you were using it."

"But when did you get it?" Luke was laughing. "Hey, this isn't funny you dork. You've gotta be a ninja or something, I swear."

Luke just shook his head.

* * *

_I wouldnt keep changing my line breakers if fanfiction would stop taking them out :0 its so aggravating. _


	4. WHAT PLANET IS THIS?

_Wah "u.u There is so much to star wars that i don't know.. its such a vast world they have entire encyclopedia's designated for the star wars world. how crazy is that?_

* * *

"Lord Vader, I should have known." Leia surmised coolly, hands folded. They shook, however, perhaps in rage, or fear. "Only you could be so bold. The Imperial Senate will not sit for this, when they hear you've attacked a diplomat…"

"Don't play games with me, Your Highness." Vader interrupted, voice laced with sardonic irony at the very word. "You weren't on any mercy mission this time. You passed directly through a restricted system—

"And when was that a cause for an unwarranted search and seizure?" She rebuked. "I don't recall this system being restricted, at any rate."

Vader said nothing, though clearly he had a few choice words to say with her.

"Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Leia sniffed. "Lord Vader, are accusing me of being part of the Rebel Alliance?"

"Part of the Alliance?" Vader echoed. "No, you're too much of a political figurehead to do something as clearly secretive as.. spearhead the rebels." Leia stiffened. "But there are other ways." He added, mysteriously.

Leia narrowed her eyes, not liking where this was going. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to, my lord." She lifted her chin defiantly.

"… I have my suspicions about you, Princess." He mused darkly before turning o the troops. "Search this ship! No one leaves!"

Vader waltzed out of the door with a flurry of movement, voice loud and no doubt cowing all the troops on board. Leia rubbed her temples, cursing herself for her stupidity.

Clearly this was a bad idea.

**SESSION IV**

.

_WHAT PLANET IS THIS?_

Luke didn't like anything about travelling this far down the Corellian trade line. Nothing at all.

He'd yet to voice his opinion out loud, however, as he hadn't quite found the words to properly articulate how much he _loathed _the very thought of Tatooine. Anywhere, anywhere but there. It almost felt as if this deep seeded hatred for the twin-sun planet had been engraved into his very bones, circulated through his veins, like some sort of hereditary curse to always end up in the confines of sand. He certainly didn't remember loathing the planet so deeply, in fact, he had a sort of distant apathy towards the two-sunned desert, but the thought of coming back there… almost frightened him. Being trapped back there frightened him.

Although, in the defense of the outer rim planet, it certainly had the best parts this side of Perlemian trade route. And while Luke valued his airship like it was a second part of himself, he wasn't about to travel cross-galaxy to Telos, completely on the opposite side of Coruscant. And if there was one place he'd never be caught ten light years from, it was there.

But its black market paled in comparison to the thought of visiting that backwater planet once more.

"This is a bad idea." Luke spoke up, after a hesitant pause of deliberation.

Captain Ferrell leaned over his chair, which was turned backwards and propped his elbows. Ru made a move to grab the glitter stick from his lips, but he pulled it out before she could manage it. "Why's that, squirt? We're far enough past the inner rim that I doubt anyone'll give us trouble." Noted Ferrell, as he peered into the interactive map that spread out among the room, stars spinning through them as the map replicated the orbit of the galaxy.

The system pinpointed them some distance away from the expansion region, and Zeba, heading down the Corellian trade route. They'd passed Ando some ways ago—and were heading crash course towards Tatooine.

Luke could have kicked the map, had he thought it would do any good.

If Luke was annoyed at the nickname—though Ferrell always had one for everyone, some… less positive then others—he made no move on it. "Going any farther down the Correlian trade line would be useless. We've already made it this far into the outer rim—there's nothing left out there. We should make our way towards Naboo and head up the Hydian line."

"But why?" Wes spoke up, eying the enormous hologram that encased the room. It spun in slow circles, planets and trade lines passing through his limbs. "It's only a couple clicks from the Ryloth system."

"What's so good about the Ryloth mission?" Leia hazarded.

"Well, the beer, mostly."

"The women." Han added.

"And it's got the cheapest fuel in the galaxy!" Wedge added, possibly the only intelligent and actual reason listed.

"So does Ando." Ru pointed out, waving towards the general direction of the enormous blue planet. "And if you ask for _my _opinion—

"But no one did." Said Wedge under his breath.

"I think it would just be better to go back up the Correlian line—and cut off before we get too close to the inner rim."

"We'll have to make the decision fast." Leia began, looking irritated at the clearly incompetent decision-making group settled before her. "We're approaching Tatooine, and after that there's only a few more systems before wild space. And little else, no doubt."

"And space monsters!" Spoke up Wes with a glinting smile. "Isn't anyone excited about that?"

Obviously not.

"Well I vote Ryloth." Wes spoke up after awkwardly rubbing his hair in silence, lounging in one of the vacated crew chairs. At the looks he received, he shrugged. "It just seems logical. From Ryloth we'll just head back the Corellian line back where we came."

"Isn't it easier to track that way?" Luke pointed out.

"Does it matter?" Rebuked Wes. "No ones tracking us."

"That we know of."

"Luke has a point." Leia interrupted, and the blonde could have sighed in relief. "I don't like the thought of being so close to the imperials rummaging around here—it worries me. Or their bounty hunter scum."

"Not to be the devil's advocate here," John Branon, a lanky man with skewed jet black hair began nervously. "But… don't we work with the empire, anyway? Is there any clear reason we've been avoiding them so far other then the fact that the majority of us don't like them?"

"Isn't that all that really matters?" Biggs cut in, noting the pinched look to Leia's face—like she'd swallowed a sour Plavonian starfish. Regardless of what she'd said before, this was obviously still a contrary point with her.

John shrugged, like he'd only brought up the point to bring it up.

"Well…" Cap scratched his head, Ru seated beside him looking just as nervous with the turn of conversation as everyone else did. "Why don't we just stay on course? No point in changing now, anyway. We'll take a couple orbits around Ryloth and then we'll head back up the route and make for Corellia."

They disbanded warily after that, the bands of starpilots and smugglers looking a bit uneasy with the turn in conversation—though clearly it was no one's fault. But it surely was a sore point that had been in the back of everyone's minds. Technically, a bounty hunter's only priority was money. Technically, that was the only thing the squad cared about. Though each and every one of them individually had their own personal opinions, and considering that a good majority of them came from the Alliance, the Empire would always be a very tense revelation.

For everyone, that is, but Luke.

The blonde haired pilot was a bit more worried about how the course of the meeting had swerved directly to where he _hadn't _wanted it to.

It was only for a couple of days, he told himself, though it made no difference. A couple day may as well have been a lifetime, when Tatooine was concerned.

The cruiser was undeniably quiet, the mess hall completely deserted of its usually rowdy patrons. Luke nimbly made his way through the service droids putting around the halls, maundering over towards the suites. Both Wedge and Wes weren't in—most likely flying their crafts around the ship. Han was passed out in his room, and Leia, well…

"Of course." Came Leia's hushed voice.

Luke immediately swung the corner, keeping out of Leia's sight as he heard her pace down the hallway in her heels.

"I know—and yes. I'll be sure to pass the message along. You don't have to worry." A pause, and then. "Just consider it a favor, I suppose."

Luke didn't want to intrude, most likely she was talking to someone personal, and while he and Leia were close… he wasn't sure what the definition clearly meant. She _had _followed him to the squad, and they certainly had a connection that he didn't have with anyone else, something indescribable that even he couldn't quite put into words. But he hardly knew her, aside from that.

Surely she'd want some privacy.

"Hey, Luke!"

The blonde snapped to attention, pulled out of his musings.

Wes was jogging up to him, helmet in hand. Huh. He didn't go out on the flight after all, then. "What do you think about a joy ride around the system?"

"Are we even in orbit, yet?" Luke asked weakly, chuckling. He glanced surreptitiously down the hallway—Leia was gone.

Wes shook his head. "Not yet. But we're already in the Tatooine System. Might as well get a couple hours of flight in, ya know?"

"Sure, I guess." Luke nodded hesitantly, not quite sure how he felt about flying around Tatooine.

At the very least, he wouldn't be prowling the hallways of the ship in anxious waiting.

"When do we leave?"

.

.

.

Luke checked his radar, a bit confused as to why it wasn't showing the asteroid field some clicks away from where he and Wes were flying. He clearly remembered it being there, like a final barrier out of the cloying heat of the desert planet, a final test to assert how desperately he wanted to leave—to even circumnavigate an asteroid field. Tatooine loomed on the horizon, like a giant, insurmountable crest in his peripheral vision. In front of him, were two identical twin suns, one before the other that near burned his retina, UV protected goggles or not.

Wes double rolled before pitching forward with more torque then necessary, laughing as he panned out a couple more aerial tricks in front of Luke's stationary X Wing.

"I've gotta come up with a name for this thing!" Wes laughed, as he maneuvered his starcraft into another complex procedure. "Like, the Wes triple-threat trick."

"You sound like a goober." Luke chuckled. "Don't."

"I'll come up with something, then!" With that, Wes kicked his X-wing up a few gears, jetting off into silent space before Luke could protest.

"That moron—" He shifted gears as well, making to follow the other pilot. "He's gonna crash!"

Wes was going so fast he may or may not have already hit light speed, but Luke went faster and sped past him in an attempt to level next to him. Tatooine was no longer in the vague distance but so close it was _tangible;_ as were the asteroids. Luke hit the breaks so hard he thought he may have broken them, swerving out of the path of a destructive rock right before he slammed right into it.

"Wes! Wes it's an asteroid field!" Luke shouted over the comm.

"What? !" Wes tumbled in after him, near missing a lethal spinning hulk. "Wh—but it didn't come up in my radar!"

"I know…" Luke hissed, distracted by his own piloting. "It wasn't in mine either. Just be really careful—"

"I've never piloted through an asteroid field before!" Came Wes' panicked voice.

"Keep your speed down, but don't slow down entirely." Luke hastily pushed a few buttons, changing the flight mode from cruising to manual. "You're gonna want to control the gears yourself—aim for smaller bursts of speed."

"My X wing doesn't have a lot of horse power…" Wes trailed off. "I'm not sure how fast it can accelerate."

"Then just keep your eyes pealed." Luke dipped under a floating rock. "The ones to look out for are the ones that are moving. And generally, they're moving fast."

Wes made a strangled cry. "Dammit! No wonder people never go into these death traps." He eyed Luke some feet to his left, who didn't seem at all perturbed by the fact they were flying in one of the most dangerous areas of space. Krith, even the most experienced of smugglers wouldn't dare go through one f these—asteroids were entirely unpredictable, though generally they showed up on one's radar to alert the pilot of an upcoming field.

Speaking of radars…

"Why didn't this come up?" Wes cried, more to himself then to Luke.

"Hmm… dunno. It wasn't big enough, I guess." Said Luke noncommittally, swerving to the left with a grace most pilots didn't have, dodging clear of a flying asteroid that sped past them seconds later.

Though perhaps the better question was…

"How did _you _know it was here, Luke?" Wes blinked, suddenly aware that his blonde friend wasn't even surprised by its location, regardless of faulty radars or not.

"Uh. Well they generally linger around the moons." Luke answered after a beat of silence. "Tatooine has five, though their very small and could probably pass for asteroids themselves—and the suns generally block them from view."

It didn't even cross Wes' mind how strange it was for Luke to know so much about a backwater planet like Tatooine—Luke just generally knew everything. And if not, then could make a well educated guess.

"So it's pretty small, then?"

"We should be clearing the end fairly soon." Luke affirmed.

Wes was just about to comment on what a stupid idea it had been to fly around in uncharted space, or at least, space no one cared to chart, when an asteroid he hadn't seen came flying from his left. He heard Luke cry out in alarm, but the rock had already crushed half of his left wing, sending him spiraling.

"Wes! Wes! Can you hear me?" Luke's voice was like static.

Lights were flashing in his cockpit, and he couldn't keep up with them. He switched on the emergency AI system, and pulled the wheel as far back as he could.

"K—Kinda… Luke?" There was so much _noise. _Everything was beeping, screaming for attention and the AI system's mechanical voice was attempting to talk over it, and Wes couldn't even understand all of it as he hit the breaks hard.

"Turn off the engine," Came Luke's voice, though it seemed to be coming from inside his head. "Put your oxygen mask on and turn off the engine."

Wes nodded, hearing nothing but the muted ringing of the aircraft before it all went silent as he shut it off—turning into a the screaming quiet of space.

Luke watched the lights on Wes' gray X Wing shut off as the boy killed the engine, nimbly moving around asteroids to catch up to the still spiraling craft. Without anything to stabilize it, Wes wouldn't be able to stop the craft from spinning.

It didn't take long for Luke to connect their crafts through one of the emergency cables, the problem was maneuvering the both of them back through the asteroid field and to the cruiser. It would be a nearly impossible feat, considering that Luke hadn't fueled before he left, and he'd be having to use twice as much to pull both him and Wes. Not to mention that Wes' X Wing was floating around lifelessly, tethered to Luke's and hindering his piloting.

The only thing, Luke supposed, that he could do now was set course to the planet below them and hope for the best.

A crash landing.

Dammit, his X Wing was _fucked._

_._

_._

_._

"Luke?" Leia called down the empty hallway. "Luke? Hello?"

No answer.

The girl frowned, hands on her hips. It was _completely _like the mysterious blonde to disappear when she needed him the most. She wavered a moment, contemplating if she should enter his locked room. It wasn't like he was there, anyway. Or was he? Maybe he was just sleeping…

A pause, before she pushed the button and the metal doors slip open to reveal Luke's sparse room.

There was very little that actually pronounced that the young blonde even lived there. She paused. Was Luke even young? He looked young. Though she didn't know his age, and for that matter, his birthday. She swallowed the awful feeling she got at the thought—she had considered them very close, perhaps closer then anyone else on the squad. Yet she didn't even know the simplest things about him.

"He's not here…" She frowned in evident disappointment, taking another sweep of the suite.

There was that picture, again. Of Luke and that smiling old man. He had to be maybe twelve or thirteen years old in this holograph, and he looked tan—more then usual, anyway—with a harsh sun beating down on him, wearing completely white.

"May your journey take you to the stars and beyond." Leia read aloud, fingering the side of the holograph. What could that mean?

Leia put the photo down, pulling out her comm and dialing Luke's number.

It rang four times, before she sighed an disconnected.

No answer.

Typical.

Leia's first choice for this mission had been Luke. He was trustworthy, he was the best, and to be quite honest, Luke was the only one Leia actually trusted out of all the other guys. Captain Ferrell was an even guy, and Han, while aggravating and money-loving, had his heart in the right place. But she wasn't sure what they'd feel about doing something so obviously life threatening. And that was the crux of it—Leia knew that out of any of them, Luke would be able to pull this off. The guy had a luck streak a mile wide, not to mention an uncanny ability to get himself out of stick situations.

Though the same could be said about Han, also a first rate pilot who definitely would've been on scary imp had he the patience, or the morals to do so. That, and Leia wasn't quite sure how she felt about him. He was certainly loyal, when he wanted to be… but for some reason, she wasn't sure if she wanted to place this on his shoulders.

Hiding the stolen death star plans for the alliance was definitely a sticky situation.

But Mon Mothma had pleaded with her, practically in tears, and if Leia was really honest with herself, the thought of the Death Star frightened her too.

What could the Empire do with such a monstrosity? The ability to kill entire planets—billions of lives in one shot. A destructive weapon that was almost twenty years in the making.

Leia shivered.

No, it was something greater then her.

This mission went above the Alliance, went above the squad.

This was fate.

And if she had to, she'd do it herself.

.

.

.

"Ugh…" Wes rubbed his head, where it felt like he'd been run over by a tauntaun.

He first became aware of how undeniably _hot _he was, and after that, he wondered why his skin felt like it was burning. And then realized it was. He leapt up with a yelp, regretting opening his eyes as he was faced with not one, but _two _burning suns, searing at his retinas.

"Oh hell…" The pilot moaned, scooting until he fell under the slight reprieve of shade.

When he was feeling less disoriented and more curious, he finally had the hindsight to shield his eyes with his arm before opening them. Not that there was much to see, aside from the broken terrain of dusty sand, rocks jutting out like reddish thumbs dotting the barren dustbowl of landscape. How depressing. He eventually found out the shade he had been using was his now, officially broken X Wing, and before he could full bemoan the loss of his beautiful craft, he was more preoccupied with the question, _where was Luke?_

"Luke?" The dark haired pilot stumbled onto his weak legs, squinting into the harsh light. "Luke!"

From this angle, he could clearly see the damage his X Wing had taken.

Wes could have cried, had he not thought better of saving his precious hydration in this burning desert.

And more importantly, Luke was nowhere in sight.

"Oh, krith." He swore, looking around. And then, the million dollar question; "What planet is this?"

"Tatooine." Came Luke's grim voice.

Wes near jumped.

The blonde scooted out from beneath his own X Wing, the once sleek profile of the dark black plane was no damaged profusely by what seemed to be one shitty landing. Not as bad as his own, tough, which looked like it had taken a couple beatings on the dirt before eventually admitting defeat to this god forsaken planet.

"Water stick?" Luke held out what looked to be a small tube of water.

Wes took it gratefully.

"We crashed." Said Luke by way of explanation, blonde hair tousled with sand and grease and dirt smudging his face. "Around two hours ago. I've been trying to get the comm working—looks like it crapped out on the way down."

"Great." Wes sighed, but it was without its usual cynical heat. This was turning out to be one bad day… "What are we gonna do?"

"I'm trying to fix what I can, but the engine's broken." Luke's face turned contrary. "We'll have to go into town and fix it there."

Wes could guess how long that would take.

"Will they even have what we're looking for?" He asked warily, sitting himself on what was left of his X Wing, wiping at his sweating brow and taking generous gulps of water.

Luke's smile was grim and ironic. "Shitty desert planet it may be, but Tatooine has the best parts this side of Coruscant."

Wes smiled. "I think my day just got better."

"Don't get your hopes up. We're also broke."

"And there they go." The dark haired pilot groaned. The heat beat down on him in relentless, dry waves. Every time he sipped from the stick his mouth only lost moisture faster. "Fuck. How do people live here? It's so goddamn hot…"

"It's midday." Came Luke's bemused response. He was once again completely shielded by the belly of his ship. "Generally people are indoors by now. It's the hottest part of the day."

"Smart people." Wes intoned. "I guess all we can do is try to get the comm working and hope someone can pick us up soon."

"Doubtful." Luke's head came up again. If possible, his face was even more smudged with soot. "There's a sandstorm a couple miles east. It'll be blocking all radio transmissions in the area. We could try to hail them, but the cruiser's on the other side of the planet."

Wes looked east. And, truth be told, there was a faint orange coloring to the sky, like an enormous wall of desert. Sand, actually. He blinked dazedly at it, before staring at Luke. He hadn't even looked up from his work.

Now that was just plain frightening.

"How did you…?—

"The air changes when there's a storm. It gets sucked over there." Was Luke's explanation. "Can't you feel the wind? If there wasn't a storm, there wouldn't be any at all."

Sometimes Wes was just plain amazed by the blonde. Where the hell did he learn all this from?

"At any rate…" The blonde grunted, pushing himself out from underneath his ship. "I don't think I can do anything else for this thing. We've gonna have to go into town."

Wes looked at him curiously. "And do what? We have no money."

"There's other ways." Said Luke with a smirk on his face.

Wes blinked. And then blinked again. "Oh no. Han's been such a _bad _influence on you."

Luke only smiled suggestively before beckoning the other pilot to follow him into the red distance. "There's a pretty big port town a mile or two away. I'm sure we can find a couple unsuspecting fools to pickpocket over there."

.

.

.

It was almost absurdly easy to slip out of the Venetus cruiser and out into space in one of the Y Wings in the hanger bay. Leia piloted the ship uneasily, feeling more anxious the farther she descended into space. Beneath her, Tatooine was a glowing orange ball, blinding and brightly furious with the double suns of this particular system. The squad had started orbit some time ago, though she'd yet to find Luke. While this had troubled her—there was nothing to be said.

She'd have to do it herself.

There was an Alderaan cruiser only a few minutes away from the Tatooine system, she was to rendezvous with the rebels on the ship and safely escort the plans to a safe destination. What destination that would be, however, was still lost upon her. Taking it back to the squad would only draw attention to them—and she doubted that any of Venetus would be happy about that. She supposed there had to be _some _planet she could hide them on for the time being. Surely a sand bowl like Tatooine would be good for something like that. At least until she could contact Mon Mothma and relay to the location of the plans.

This was serious, Leia swallowed thickly. This was the fate of the galaxy depending on her.

It wasn't long that Leia had to wait before the Alderaan cruiser exited hyperspace into the Tatooine orbit. The ship dwarfed her small one, and she immediately hailed communications with the enormous ship.

"_This is the 187X Alderaan Cruiser. Please state identification codes."_

Leia bit her lip, and took a breath. "I don't have any." She began, closing her eyes. "Mon Mothma sent me—I… I'm here too—

"It will be just one moment." Came the quick interruption, and Leia could hear the burst of relief in the man's voice that had been masked with calm deceptiveness.

Her ship was being hailed.

She switched it onto automatic and allowed the Y Wing to be pulled into the cruiser's hangar bay. She gave a last look to the silent galaxy behind her, where the Venetus cruiser was orbiting on the other side of the planet.

Hopefully they wouldn't think too badly of her.

The cruiser was spacious, but in complete disarray.

The worst part was—the crew looked to her like some sort of godsend. As if she had the answers to all their problems. Leia felt like someone had punched her in the gut.

"Princess!" A man ran up to her, looking so relieved she felt guilty. "Thank goodness you're here. Mon Mothma was unsure if you would be able to help."

"I'm still unsure." Leia rebuked with a wan smile. "But I'll try, at any rate. Where are the plans?"

The man, presumably the captain of the ship, handed her a nondescript looking disc. Something so important, on something so little? It shook in her hands, as she stared down at it in wonderment. This little thing, controlling the fate of the galaxy, the innumerable amount of sentient beings that called it home, and their destinies.

She took a breath. "Alright. Anything else I should be made aware of?"

There was a moment of hesitation as the man looked quite stricken, but he only shook his head quickly.

"Captain…?"

"N—No!" He answered hastily, steering her down the hall away from the hangar bay. "Though I have something for you…"

Leia looked up, and the two of them stopped walking.

Her eyes widened.

But that couldn't be—

"R2?" She choked "3PO?"

The two droids looked at her, R2 happily beeping as he sped over to her legs. 3PO trailed awkwardly behind, mouth faster then his limbs.

"Princess Leia! Oh, how pleasant it is to see you…" The droid, given its lack of facial expression, certainly did seem happy to see her. "Why, I was beginning to think you had abandoned us."

"Unintentionally." She chided. "I was just so caught up in all sorts of things and I completely forgot where I'd put you two!"

"Your father had us hold them on the ship." Said the captain awkwardly. "I guess he, uh, had faith that you would come back one day."

Leia's eyes softened at the thought of Bail Organa, her adopted father. The rebel alliance had been his life's work, and for a long time, Leia was sure it would be hers as well. She believed whole heartedly that the empire, and what it stood for, was nothing but evil. At the same time, she also believed that the alliance was getting just as little done as the empire. The majority of the higher ups spent more time arguing with each other then fighting the empire—and now they were in the most disastrous situation they'd every faced.

"I suppose…" Leia trialed off thoughtfully.

The man brightened. "Does this mean you'll be joining us again?"

"No, nothing like that." And immediately deflated. "I'm quite content with where I am now, thank you. Now, onto these plans…"

They walked further down the hallway, Leia curiously noticing that the farther they walked, the less people they saw. It wasn't long until the entire hallways was empty, and eerily silent, aside from 3PO's ungainly footsteps and the low drone of the captains voice as he explained. The death star plans were their only hope to defeat the monstrous space ship, which, he assured, was the size of a moon. Leia shivered at the thought.

"So you're positive that there's a weakness?" She asked in a daze. This was becoming a lot harder then she thought.

He nodded. "Of course. There has to be."

"But where? I can't think of any—

Leia didn't have any time to finish, as she was cut off by a shrill alarm and the sudden flashing of red lights down the hallway. R2 squeaked, and 3PO gasped. Beside her, the captain had went stiff.

But there was no frantic shouts of men or the mad dash of feet. The enter hall was silent. The entire hsip was silent… waiting… Leia felt the blood drain from her face. Suddenly… it all clicked to her.

"You _knew_." She hissed, furiously. "You _knew _they were after you—and you lead them straight to me!"

"I'm—I'm sorry!" The man gasped out, obviously afraid of a woman half his size. "I—we didn't know what else to do!"

"The alliance is part of this sham too?" Her eyes widened, before she frowned in disgust.

The man only floundered, sputtering for some sort of apology that wouldn't please her in the slightest. There was nothing she could do about it now—she was already here, already trapped, and the empire was already closing in. There was little else she could do but finish what she had started.

But how? She hadn't even figured it out on the way here, and now, to find she only had a few minutes to come up with some sort of plan…

"R2!" She barked, in a moment of miraculous epiphany. The droid came to attention. "Follow me."

And with that, she took off down the hallway, the rolling droid at her heels. "Oh no! Princess! Wait, don't leave me again, please!" 3PO pleaded in growing horror, attempting to catch up to them.

.

.

.

By the time they had successfully fished enough money out of people's pockets, not to mention a few rounds of judicious gambling—who would have thought Luke was so lucky— and gotten a tow speeder to pick up their broken crafts and get them to the shop, one of the twin suns was about to touch the ground. Wes was still a bit in awe at how every single one of Luke's bets was _right _to be seriously worried on how that was possible.

The blonde, for all intent purposes, was just getting lucky.

Mos Eisley was just as Luke had said. Big. Big and barren and covered in dust, just like the rest of the planet. In fact, it was almost sorry to look at. People maundered wherever the alcohol went, and seemed content to spend their lives gazing out into the never ending orange sand, never to leave this ugly, scarred planet.

Wes almost shivered at the thought.

The ships would take another thirty minutes before they were even operable, so he and Luke had taken the rest of their 'burrowed' cash and gotten a table on a veranda at a nearby restaurant. The entire building was made out of this pasty white sand, and the balcony, which was reserved for the most esteemed guests, was just the same. Luke didn't seem particularly bothered by the fact that their extra cash was considered wealthy enough to warrant a seat in the best section. He seemed more interested in watching the sunset and drinking hefty gulps of water.

Though in this heat, Wes couldn't blame him.

"Whew…" Wes downed his third glass. Water never tasted so sweet. "D'you think this stuff is free?" It certainly was on every other planet.

Luke chuckled. "Absolutely not."

Wes grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Well no wonder they love us, even though we haven't ordered any food." After all this, their total would probably be monstrous. Not that either minded.

"Hey… Wes…" Look trailed off, his eyes trailing towards the sky.

Wes followed suit, before recoiling from the still burning rays of Tatooine's last lingering sun. He shielded his eyes with his arm. "What?"

"Do you see that?"

No. All he saw was a giant burning ball of gas. "… I don't think so."

"That." Luke pointed directly into it.

"Uh—

"That black dot." A couple inches away from the rim of the fiery gas giant, was an almost imperceptible black smudge. It could have been anything, from a blurry spot in his vision to a plane in the sky.

"It's a dot, Luke." Wes sighed, leaning back. "It's probably just a cruiser landing, or something."

The blonde frowned, unconvinced. He fished out a pair of scouting goggles hanging from one of his belts, squinting into them to peer into the stratosphere. It didn't look like much—probably just a giant ship parked out in orbit. But it must've been _quite _large to show up through the naked eye.

Luke's eyes narrowed. "That can't be a regular cruiser…"

He had _felt _something… something ominous through the force. There was a tinge of Leia to it, a familiar presence that lingered of her, and it was wrapped in edgy fear. And another, just as familiar presence that he couldn't quite reason with…

Wes, who seemed to have sapped all his energy with just looking around in the blistering heat, hadn't heard him. Instead, he fanned himself, downing water. He gave a lingering look past his thoughtful friend and to the indoors. Undoubtedly it was just as hot, if not hotter, in there. Tatooine had obviously never heard of air conditioning.

And he most likely wouldn't have thought anything of Luke's unwillingness to let the subject go—Luke was just strange, generally all the weird stuff he did Wes just chalked it up to that. He got those weird 'feelings' he called them, and always seemed a step ahead of everyone else. And at other times, he was a slow and dense as a drunken Corellian fool.

But then his comm beeped furiously.

"Oh?" His brows raised. "So they actually fixed it?" He had half a mind to think the guy who fixed it up had just schemed them.

"Whatsup, Han?"

A pause, and then. "_What_? Y—You've _got _to be kidding me…"

Luke lowered his binoculars, curious.

Wes looked like he was having a heart attack. "Where? The other side of the planet? Oh, krith…"

"Wes?" Luke called, worriedly. "What's going on?"

Wes looked at him, stricken. "The _Executor _is in the atmosphere. …Darth Vader's here."

* * *

_My favorite part has come (:_


	5. SPACE LION

Vader was here, and all Luke could think was, _well, fuck. _

He didn't do much else though, aside from slump back in his chair, wu=ith an irritated expression as he rubbed a hand over his face. Wes, on the other hand, was having a dramatic mental breakdown, eyes the size of saucers as he leapt to his feet.

"Oh, holy _shit _Luke! What are we gonna do?" He slammed a hand down onto the table, nearly spilling his glass and hastily fumbling to right it back up. His hands were still shaking, though. "_Luke_! Fuck, Luke! Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He took one look at his friend, who seemed to have stared down death in the face—or at least heard he was in the atmosphere, at any rate.

Luke made an exasperated noise. "Would you sit down?" A couple patrons on the balcony had looked curiously over at Wes' outburst, and the last thing they needed to do was attract attention.

The boy did so, with a dazed expression.

Luke took a deep breath, feeling the need to calm himself as well. The force around him was tingling with anxiety, and he knew it was coming from him. After a few moments of meditative silence, he opened his eyes again.

"We're gonna play it cool." Luke explained, leaning in close. "And we're gonna get the _hell _off this planet before more shit comes up. What'd Han say?"

"Something about Leia…" Wes trailed off uneasily. "But then the connection shot off. Krith… what in the galaxy is Vader doing here?"

Luke shrugged. "Sniffing out the rebels, probably." And then, after a beat. "Which mean's they're here as well."

"What is this, a showdown in the middle of bum fuck nowhere?" Wes groaned.

The blonde's lip quirked slightly, but it was an empty smile. "I guess so. Listen, I'm going to try and connect to them again; why don't you check on the planes? If they're not ready to go in the next thirty minutes, double the pay and tell them to hurry it up."

Wes nodded, looking relieved at the thought of getting off this awful, oppressing, heated planet even though Darth Vader was just outside the atmosphere. The boy pedaled off, and Luke dropped some money on the table as he made his way down as well.

Lule had to admit, the idea of Vader in the system had him pretty much at the same level of terror as Wes. Fortunately, he was just better at hiding it.

Or maybe just more prepared for it.

He dialed Han's number first, the comm making scratchy noises from all the interference. Luke frowned. After living in Tatooine for so long, he was aware satellite transmissions wouldn't work in a sandstorm. Low frequency two ways, like the one he was using, should work just fine, as long as he wasn't making a long distance call to Coruscant or something. So what would cause the interference?

Luke's eyes widened.

Han answered the phone. "_Yo star boy—_

But Luke immediately hung up, glowering into the sky. So the empire was monitoring the calls—but why? Did they suspect the rebels to be on planet?

In case Han decided to call him again, Luke shut off his phone. Knowing Han, it'd actually be more like several calls, and something like that would look suspicious. At any rate, it was useless being down here, on the planet he hated more than anything.

Just his luck they'd be stuck here, empire and all.

He slinked off into the alley ways, keenly aware of the padded boots shuffling in the dirt behind him. Stormtroopers already? This wasn't just a showdown in the middle of bum fuck nowhere—this was an _ambush. _Clearly Vader knew that the rebels were making for this planet. Luke wondered what he thought of that.

Probably nothing.

Wasn't it a Sith ritual to cut ties with all of that?

"The _Space Lion_, right?"

Luke startled subtly at the voice, caught off guard at the low baritone, a mixture of exotic accents amongst a sea of Huttanese, and cursed under his breath. He was rarely referred to as anything but _Luke _by people who had met him in person, but his bounty hunter name was notorious—

And unfortunately, infamous among other bounty hunters.

"That's what they call me." The blonde answered neutrally, not looking in the direction of the voice, but attuned to it all the same.

A bounty hunter on Tatooine wasn't an uncommon sight. But perhaps it was too coincidental for a bounty hunter to approach _him, _at this particular moment, with the rebels trapped in orbit and the _Executor _closing in on its prey.

"What they call you means a lot around here." The bounty hunter observed, sifting out of the sandy shadows. The dull glint of his armor gave him a droid like appearance.

But the voice was entirely human.

"Boba Fett." Luke greeted, cordially.

"You work with the squad, don't you?"

"You've been following us." Luke noticed, suspicions confirmed. Their encounter on Zeba was anything but coincidental.

Fett inspected his blaster idly. "I might've." The hunter answered noncommittally. "You lot stir up a lot of trouble with the empire."

"With everyone, actually." Luke refuted, collectedly/ And then, turning his unnervingly blue eyes to Fett. "Do you need something?"

And again, "I might." Another noncommittal answer.

Luke scoffed.

Let the Empire do what it wanted—it always did, anyway—he wasn't about to get in a fight, or even get his hackles raised, over such a stupid, insignificant bounty hunter like Boba Fett. His reputation may reach the farthest flung planets in the galaxy, but his nonexistent mark in the force told Luke that he was entirely infinitesimal.

"Do what you want." The blonde bit out, turning away. "Just don't get in our way."

The bounty hunter watched him go, idly tapping the steel rim of his gun, blazing brother suns blinding Luke in gold.

**SESSION FIVE**

_**.**_

_THE SPACE LION_

_._

The image lingers in his head, festers there like a wound that won't heal, picked open idly in the waking hours, where the dark heat overtakes him completely. It's not an image really, a moment perhaps, a lapse in time, continuously replayed on the security footage in an infinite loop.

It was the first time Fett had ever heard or seen of the Space Lion.

He wondered at the name. Fett himself had many of those, in a variety of tongues—nicknames of infamy that came inevitably in his line work. Not to mention his armor was quite… eccentric, and generally people knew of him by sight alone, but he knew that his reputation preceded him, as it did with all bounty hunters. He wouldn't get nearly as good of business if it didn't.

The name, though. Why?

Maybe it was because of the hair.

Even in the poor lighting of the docking bay security camera Fett could see the way it lit up gold in the sun, like a fiery blonde mane. Lions were fearless—there wasn't any other way to describe the way he charged through the base, moved with a fluidity that was almost omniscient. He dodged bullets nimbly, moved like a predator as he took down his prey. There was something ruthlessly mechanical to the merciless takedown, something inhuman to the stone of his face.

And then he was off, just like that. Tearing through space in that sleek, silent X-Wing, blending in with the stars with the barest of moments, leaving thousands of credits of damage in his wake and a mission accomplished under his belt.

Fett's client was enraged—so enraged he'd hired a bounty hunter of his own to protect his assets, regardless of the fact Fett was being overpaid for glorified baby-sitting duty. The _Space Lion _wasn't coming back. Word of mouth was that he had a new crew he hung with, had disengaged from the rebel circles and was into something else.

_Squad Venetus._

Lord Vader didn't look up as the doors to the antechamber slid open, revealing a bounty hunter dressed entirely in armor.

"Lord Vader." Fett greeted cordially.

At this, the machine like man looked up. "Fett." And then, with the barest hints of confusion. "Have I required your services?"

Boba Fett examined the tips of his gloves. "No, not recently."

"Then you are dismissed." Said Vader, looking uninterested, turning back to his monitor once more.

But Fett wasn't deterred. "You have a diplomat in those chambers, right?" He nudged his head in the direction of the prison cells. "A one…Princess Leia, right?"

Vader paused, the computer beeping fervently, and Fett could almost feel the palpable waves of annoyance radiating from him. This was certainly a dangerous game. "Speak your piece, hunter." Ah, so this was a sore spot then.

"I have information that she's quit the alliance some time ago." Spoke Fett, idly, once more continuing to brush off nonexistent dirt from his careful study of his gloves. Vader turned to him now. "Between us bounty hunters, there's been a lot of competition between solo bounty hunters and this new… _company _of hired mercenaries. I hear she works for them now."

"Them?" Vader repeated, scoffing. "What a ludicrous idea. If you've nothing else to say—

"They call them the Squad." Fett continued onwards, moving forward with stunning temerity in this dangerous game. But Vader hadn't killed him yet, so… "They take missions from anyone—whoever'll pay the best. Last I hear, the rebel alliance paid _quite _a sum of credits for their latest retrieval mission to be completely wiped off the books."

"You speak of the Death Star plans." Noted Vader, flatly, clearly not in the mood to beat around the bush, nor to question where Fett had gotten the information. There was a reason Vader hired him, after all.

Fett looked up at that. The Dark Lord of the Sith had ceased monitoring calls, and had given him the majority of his attention—a feat which the bounty hunter had never achieved before.

"I do." He answered, honestly.

"And what do you suggest… with this, 'squad'?"

"They're around here somewhere." Fett shrugged. "I met a few of their guys on world. Those plans… they could very well be long gone."

Vader made a frustrated noise, and hastily, Fett backed away. In good time, too, as one of the machines he'd been leaning on began to fizzle, smoke wafting into the air before all the circuits seemed to simultaneously erupt, causing him to leap back from the sparks.

"Find me those mercenaries." Vader commanded. "And I will deal with them all."

"There's too many of them to properly get a hold of. And the moment they suspect you're onto them they'll take off faster than a Wookie in the tropics. I suggest an easier way, my Lord."

Vader paused, seeming to contemplate him. "And what would that be, bounty hunter?"

And, with a smile that neither could see, "Hire them."

.

.

There was little to like about captivity in a holding cell, Leia grumbled to herself. Let alone the uncomfortable bed. If it could even be called so. Rather, it was a long white block that, if she tried hard enough, could possibly give her a few hours of restless sleep.

She didn't have to worry about that, though, as the doors slid open with a sharp hiss.

"Princess." Greeted Lord Vader, with nothing but the barest inclination of his head.

Leia glared at him. "Do you need something, Lord Vader?" She asked, blithely. "I was just getting ready for an afternoon nap."

"I do indeed, Princess." He returned. "I know you've hidden the plans."

"I have nothing to do with the rebel alliance!" Leia protested hotly, looking away with a sniff. "To think you've locked me in this cell without even a wink of evidence—

"That you're part of the alliance? No… that you've stolen the Death Star plans and hidden them?" And then, with a hint of amused inflection to his voice. "Does your Squad know you're here?"

Leia froze.

"As I suspected. Third party's are liable for accessory charges." Vader reminded. "However, considering the depths of your skill, I may be willing to make a deal." He offered, magnanimously.

Leia arched her brow, crossing her arms and standing at her squared height of five feet. Even though Darth Vader had nearly two feet on her, she wasn't to be intimidated. "We don't make deals." She refused loftily.

"You'll find you don't have a choice, Princess." Refuted the Sith Lord.

Her eyes narrowed with determination, anger, and something the Dark Lord relished in—fear. Fear not for herself, but her companions in this silly little band of hunters.

"How much?"

Vader inclined his head.

"How much?" Leia repeated, bitingly. "It's not free."

"Then you'll find that this one will be on the house." Was all he said, walking out of the cell with a shadowy swish of his cape.

Irritated beyond belief, Leia dropped onto her cell bed, getting angrier by the minute. The nerve of that man… machine! But behind all that anger was something a little more worrying—a concern for the rest of the team which had been lingering in the back of her head since she'd tentatively accepted the distress call from the Alliance. And to think that stupid idea could very well get them all killed.

She swung an arm over her face.

Hopefully Luke was okay…

Luke sneezed, just as he finally managed to get his x wing off the ground. Beside him, Wes already gunned his engine and tore down the runway, out into the blistering sky. Luke followed hastily, wondering what such a twinge in the Force could mean… after all, the elusive mystery of the galaxy certainly didn't come with an instruction guide.

_Nothing good. _Luke thought, irritably. How did Leia always manage to get herself into trouble?

"Wes," He called over the radio. "Let's stick with the local frequency for now, okay?"

"Sure, sure." Replied his wingman, distracted with the feel of his controls underneath him once more. And, with a hint of pleasant surprise; "Damn, those guys did a pretty good job!"

Luke smirked. "Yeah, Tatooine's got a few reputable guys down there…" And then, hastily, "So I've heard, anyway."

"How the hell do you always know these things, Luke?" Wes laughed, thankfully good-naturedly. He seemed more concerned with his power generators than figuring out the mysteries of Luke.

"Oh I dunno… I pick things up here and there." He answered vaguely, igniting his thrusters and taking off into the cold bliss of space.

Anything was better than Tatooine, that godforsaken planet that may as well have been a drifting hole of deplorable morals.

Except this.

Wes cursed, slowing his X-Wing down as they finally broke atmosphere.

The Venetus Cruiser was a glorious sight to see, an imperious block of clean alloy, air conditioning, good food, and _regulated _temperatures. From this angle, Luke could see the bay windows of the mess hall, double-enforced plexiglass that always showed the most breathtaking view of the galaxy. Every time they came back to it, Luke always felt remarkable relief, like coming back home.

But not with the Executor docked beneath it.

"Krith spit!" Wes howled, looking livid from what Luke could see of his profile.

But the blonde was too numb to curse, to numb with fear, trepidation a slow, but inevitable rise in his throat like bile working its way up from his stomach. He'd come to terms with being on Tatooine, that restless, itchy, incessant need to _leave _finally relinquished as they wrenched through the atmosphere—and now this.

"—should we do?" Wes chanced a glance over to Luke's X-Wing, faintly making out a dark expression to his friend's face that seemed to go well with his sleek, black plane.

"Luke?" He repeated.

The blonde jolted out of his thoughts. "Huh?"

"I was asking what should we do." Wes swallowed. "Should we turn back? I mean, it isn't too late… we're probably not on their scopes yet. We could try to contact them later, or maybe—

"No." The blonde sighed. "That'd just be delaying it. I have a feeling I know what they want."

"…Luke?" Wes blinked, not following.

"It's okay Wes." He could almost feel the blonde's smile. "We'll just dock and see what's going on."

"If you say so…" The dark-haired pilot drawled, unsure.

It was only a few more minutes until the Exectur's specs had picked them up, hailing them both. Wes gave him a quick look of fright, which Luke ignored in favor of his own nerves.

The slow ascent into the_ Executor _hangar bay were some of the most terrifying moments of Luke's life—he felt like very nerve ending had gone numb, leaving his head cold and void. The force around him shook, and he could feel it, the heady, overbearing darkness of Vader's presence, lingering in the air, crawling under his skin.

Wes wasn't doing any better.

He'd never met the guy personally, but it was _Darth fucking Vader. _Didn't take a genius to know what that meant. The guy was a legend for a reason. Not to mention the right hand man to the Emperor—why in the fuck was he here? Sure, the Squad was pretty fucking famous, yeah, but only in name, and only in certain circles. Other bounty hunters grew to fear and hate what a community of mercenaries working together would mean for them and the industry, but that certainly wasn't enough to warrant a visit from Vader himself.

Maybe he was here to kill them all, deciding the galaxy needed to be rid of them.

Maybe they were too much of a threat.

Wes was shaking, clammy and cold suddenly even in the regulated temperature of the _Executor's _hangar bay. His weight was hard to balance on wobbling feet, bile was crawling in his throat as the storm troopers came into view.

Good god, just a few months ago he was a rebel. Being in this ship would have been a death sentence.

Might _still _be a death sentence.

He glanced over at Luke, but as usual, the guy was a fucking mask. If he felt anything at all, it wasn't showing on his face.

Krith, how could the guy be so calm, all the goddamn time?

They stood in the bay for a few moments, a line of troopers standing to attention in front of them, blasters raised. Luke slowly raised his hands to his head, and Wes hastily followed his lead.

Eventually, one of them parted the sea of white, coming to stand in front of them.

"Are you two members of the Squad?" He questioned.

Luke nodded.

The trooper motioned for the others to lower their weapons.

"Good." Was all he said. "Follow me."

It was one of the worst, longest walks of his life. The hallways of the imperial starship were as hollow and quiet as death, like walking through a tomb. Or maybe just to their death. God, Wes couldn't stop thinking about death. Was he going to die right now? Never had the question seemed so pertinent until he was about to come face to face with the most terrifying guy in the galaxy. Guy. Machine. Whatever the hell Vader was.

As if summoned with the very thought, the deathly quiet of the walkway suddenly opened up into the mouth of the deck, and an ominous, mechanical hiss filled the air.

Wes tensed up, feeling every single hair on the back of his neck prickle at the perfectly timed, mechanical breathing.

This was it, then.

The room opened up onto the observation deck, bustling with dozens of stormtroopers, all somehow entirely silent, aside from the occasional tapping of a keyboard. Tatooine hung low against the windows, a rim of searing orange that expanded infinitely below them, the stars and galaxy behind it seemed so distant with the looming presence of the desert planet. And there, standing almost unnaturally tall on the catwalk was the man himself.

Darth Vader.

Clearly the man lived up to his reputation. Even this far away Wes sort of had to crane his neck to get a good look at him. Dressed completely in black, it was difficult to tell if he was actually human at all. He certainly didn't look it, cloaked in gloom, the only light coming from the array of blinking lights on his chest. The set of his mask looked decidedly angry.

And there, next to him, was Leia.

She seemed that much shorter next to him, the top of her elaborate hairstyle not even brushing the height of his shoulder. She looked like the antithesis to him, dressed in white with a pinched, contrary expression, juxtaposed by his expressionless black mask. Wes almost wanted to laugh. How typical Leia—even when standing next to the most fearsome man in the galaxy she still looked annoyed.

The masked man looked to her. "And these are members of your squad?"

Leia's gaze narrowed, before she replied, scathingly. "These are some of my companions, yes."

Vader turned to them. The eyes of his mask were dark and empty, and yet seemed to burn into Wes' soul.

"The Princess here has… _kindly _offered your services to me. Until you have accomplished the tasks I set for you, your ship will be under my jurisdiction. I expect the best of your team to assemble at 0900 for mission briefing… Consider this a trial of sorts. If you do this job well, perhaps I'll hire you for real."

The idea of Vader hiring them again, _ever _made Wes want to vomit. He'd prefer to never live this experience in Vader's presence ever again.

Next to him, Luke had yet to move a muscle. It was a moment before Wes realized that Vader wasn't really looking at him… but at _Luke. _They seemed to be clashing, somehow, and Luke held his gaze with a certain foolish brazenness. Foolsih, but somewhat inspiring. Wes would never have been able to stare Vader down in the face and look as fearless as Luke did in that moment.

"That's fine." Luke bit out.

At the words, Leia seemed to snap to attention. She folded her arms, and looked to Vader loftily. "Am I free to go, then?"

Vader seemed to exert great effort in looking all the way down to her, almost comically craning his neck. "Expect to be watched."

Her anger was almost palpable, but she said nothing. She only turned her nose with a dramatic flip of her extravagantly styled hair, waltzing over towards Luke and walking away from him without a backwards glance. How in the hell the two of them were completely okay with blowing off Vader like this… Wes didn't know. He only followed them numbly, unsure of what else to do. The very idea of putting Vader at his back had his nerves shot, but he managed to do it.

The moment they were out of earshot, Wes had a few hysteric words—or maybe just hysteric shouts—for the two of them, but Luke and Leia were stonily silent as they walked back towards the hangar bay. Once there, the stromtroopers allowed them back onto their ships, Luke and Wes into their X-Wings and Leia into her Y-Wing, and the three headed back into their own ship. The comm was completely silent.

And then finally, _finally, _they arrived in the safety of Squad Venetus' headquarters.

Leia seemed to blink out of her impassive façade, turning big, pleading eyes toward Luke.

"Luke, please, don't—

"I'm going to go." He interrupted her, turning to look out the bay windows. The _Executor _was a demanding curve at the bottom of the glass. "I'll take Han. Wedge, if he's up to it. We'll see how it goes."

Leia looked as if she had more to say to that, biting her lip. Whatever it was died on her lips. "I'm so sorry, Luke." She said instead. "I should have _never _listened to them—I knew they were only in it for themselves. I just… I just never thought they'd betray _me _like that even after all I—

"It's really not your fault." He cut her off, a certain softness to his voice. The wrinkles in her face slowly eased away. "You were tricked, Leia. They didn't tell you they were being pursued."

"Regardless," She huffed. "I put the squad into jeopardy. I shouldn't have done that."

Luke shrugged, not looking particularly perturbed by this. "We've all done it at some point."

Leia gave him a dubious look.

"Either we have already or we will eventually." Luke pointedly added. "Anyway, if I play my cards right… I might be able to get this to work our way."

At this, Wes blinked. "Wait. _Seriously_? How can you possibly see any beneficial outcome to working with _Darth Vader, _the krithing _Sith Lord_?-!"

Luke turned to him, running a hand through his hair. "Look, so he's after the Death Star plans, right?" He looked to Leia. "I'm assuming he's unaware of how much you had a hand in disposing of those."

She pursed her lips into a thin line. "Hopefully not."

The blonde nodded. "Right. So, it won't be difficult for us to retrieve them—which is what I'm betting he intends for us to do. If we can swing it right, we can lead him to believe that you were just doing your job, Leia. The alliance was tight-lipped about everything; they just wanted you to whisk something away without a trace. Pretty typical job for a group of mercenaries, right?"

She nodded cautiously, clearly unsure of where he was going with this.

"So, doubtlessly he's not going to be the one to tell us what it is, either. We can play dumb, go collect the plans and give the back, and pretend like we never knew anything else. Hopefully if we can act the part, Vader will never know the difference."

Leia blinked rapidly, incredulous. Wes sputtered.

"You can't expect that to work." She said finally, at great length. "Vader's no fool, Luke. He'll suspect we know more than we let on."

Luke ran a hand through his hair, looking resigned and yet determined. "I really don't see any other way to do this. Also, that's part of the reason I'm going to bring along Han—he's the perfect personality to solidify our image. All Vader will see is a bunch of social outcasts looking for money and fortune. If we're lucky, he wont' care much more after that."

Leia pursed her lips, still looking doubtful. "Alright." She conceded, "Say we do this, say the plan works. Luke, the Death Star is _terrifying. _What they plan to do with that monstrosity is inhuman and _wrong. _They could blow up entire planets with that thing! The Empire would be indestructible! I may not be part of the Alliance anymore, but not because I don't believe in what they stand for—they may have been run by a bunch of krithing morons, but they have the right idea. I can't, in good conscious, return those plans. I'd honestly rather die." She ended with frank honesty.

Wes looked between the two of them warily, the tension almost palpable. He'd always thought that Luke and Leia seemed to be able to communicate telepathically with their minds—though he sort of thought that about Luke in general—and right now they're eyes seemed to be arguing without the need of words.

Finally, Luke smiled. "That's the thing, Leia. We're not _really _gonna give them back."


End file.
